#feels so itchy and even clothing makes it worse

[selestial-princess]

Love how being on my period makes my entirety of my skin feel like I walked into a cloud of mosquitoes

[coichii]

101 DEGREES FAHRENHEIT ✭

—(🎧)—> when your sick, he always knows just how to take care of you

pairing - bf!minho ♥︎ fem!uni student!reader

genre: sickfic, angst, and comfort

word count: 1.9k

warnings: cursing, unhealthy habits, self deprecating behavior & thoughts.

You grab a sip of your water for what feels like the 1000th time tonight.

Somehow, throughout the day, you had picked up a cold. You knew there was some strain of flu spreading throughout your school, but man this one spread quicker than ever.

There’s no time for that though, especially not with midterms coming up right around the corner. So with heavy eyes and a sore throat that you swear is getting worse within a matter of seconds, you continue studying.

You didn’t live on campus. In fact, you lived in a small apartment with your boyfriend, Minho. It was close enough to both your university and his company, so it worked out perfectly. Not having to deal with pesky, disgusting roommates and getting to live with the love of your life instead was the dream.

The sound of keys ringing and the door cracking open was enough to pull you out of your thoughts. Your lover had just came home.

You smile gently as you hear his quiet footsteps grow ever closer to the door, heart bubbling with same excitement as it had when you first moved in. The feeling never went away, not even a little bit.

“Hi baby.” He says, walking in to your shared bedroom and sitting down on the bed behind you. “Still working this late?”

“Well yeah. Couldn’t sleep.” You reply. You wonder if your voice gave your illness away, because you can see his eye brows furrowing as you speak. “Are you sick y/n?”

“I just came down with it. My throat hurts, that’s all. I may not even be sick.” You try not to worry him, lying as you speak. If you’re being honest, your throat hurts like a bitch. But you know him well enough to know that if he knows how bad your feeling, he’ll focus all his energy on making you feel 110% and push off practically everything else.

He hums in response, eyes still searching yours before he’s moving to stand up. “Let me make you some tea then hmm? that should make you feel better.”

“Are you sure? It’s still super later Minho.” You respond, but you know it’s a loosing battle. He could be stubborn when he needed to be, and he is when it comes to you and your health.

“It’s fine. Besides, what kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t take care of you. Do you want chamomile?” He asked, not taking no for an answer. You smile as you feel yourself giving in, eyes feeling even more agonizingly heavy.

“Please” you groan out, and he’s leaving to the kitchen. You feel grateful for him as the day and pain catches up to you, finally deciding to close your textbooks and change for the night. Thankfully, you had already showered and brushed your teeth, so there was no worrying about that.

You grab the book you had been reading from your nightstand as you tuck your self into bed, silently waiting for the tea your boyfriend had prepared.

Even though you put up a slight fight about it, you can’t help but enjoy when he treats you like this. You love when he takes care of you, it makes you feel special and loved. It fills you with a special kind of warmth that can’t be described in words. Just pure love.

Just as the pain in your throat felt as if it was getting impossibly worse, your boyfriend came in with a steaming cup of hot chamomile tea, placing it down on the coaster next to you. “It’s really hot so be careful okay? I’m going to go shower now.” He dotes on you, placing a chaste kiss on your cheek.

“Ok, thank you so much baby. I’ll probably be sleep by the time you’re done.” And he hums in response, giving you one last kiss on the cheek before heading to the bathroom, clothes in hand.

The tea does a good job with soothing your throat, the sweet, honey taste dripping down your throat perfectly remedying the itchy, scratchy feeling.

You decide to finally get some shut eye as midnight comes around quicker than you thought, placing your book back on the nightstand and trying to get comfortable.

Key word : Trying

It’s hard, especially with the small cough that creeped its way into your throat all of a sudden. It’s keeping you up, the hacking noise disrupting the peace your body needed to finally fall asleep.

It takes longer than you wish it did, but eventually the tea is able to coax your body into sleep, eyes finally getting the rest they desperately needed.

Moments later, Minho joins you in the bedroom, clad in nothing but breezy pajama pants. Getting into bed with you and snuggling close, he knows you’re asleep, but he can’t help but begin to pepper small kisses upon face and hold you tighter.

“Get better, my love.” He drifts off, falling into sleep alongside you.

And you wish you could say you did.

You woke up smoldering hot but shivering at the same time. You look at your clock, groaning as the bright light amplified the small headache that had spread through your entire face. 10 am. You’re usually up by seven.

You silently say a quick “thank you prayer” that you don’t have classes on Wednesdays. Taking a day off of school during exam season is a whole death wish. But with how things are progressing, you’re not sure if you can even go tomorrow without getting 9-1-1 called.

You open your phone, groaning again as the light messes with your headache, but reading who the message is from still causes a weak smile to take form on your face.

—

new message from “linoo❤️🐰”

linoo❤️🐰: Good morning y/n.

linoo❤️🐰: Are you feeling better?

linoo❤️🐰 : I know you don’t have classes today, so you should take it easy.

linoo❤️🐰 : If you want to call or need me to come over, tell me. You know I won’t mind.

you : hey, I just woke up❤️ im fine though.

he texts back within less than a minute

linoo❤️🐰 : your symptoms are gone?

you : well no… they’re worse. but I’m fine !! i promise

linoo❤️🐰 : you’ll call me if it gets worse right?

you : yes :) I promise

linoo❤️🐰 : okay, have a good day. I love you

you : I love you 2 !!

—

You sigh as you place your phone down, mentally deciding to go take a shower. Surely that’ll fix the headache right?

Your head spins as you get out of bed, the world looking blurry and dizzy with specs of gray. It’s hard to walk.

“How the actual fuck did it get this bad so quickly?” You mumble to yourself, stumbling towards the bathroom and turning on the water.

The steam helps a little bit with the tension in your head and the congestion of your nose, but it’s not doing much. Atleast not as much as you need. Your throat was still burning for some relief, and the dizziness hasn’t stopped either. You’re thinking if it gets any worse, you’re probably going to have to go to the hospital.

The shower itself helps a little bit more with alleviating the pain, the warm water cascading down your skin and warming it up inside. But you can still feel it.

You can still feel the pounding of the headache you swear is forming into a migraine practically tearing your head apart, your throat is still screaming you for something warm, and to make matters worse, you think you’re developing nausea too.

Yup, definitely the flu

The flu never stopped anyone though, and midterms are still right around the corner. So with a dry cough and constant sneeze, you were popping advil, and taking a seat at your desk.

“A little sickness can’t me from doing this” you thought to yourself, but it was much harder than you thought.

Suddenly the sun had already set. The moonlight creeps its way inside through the slits in the blinds, but you hadn’t seemed to notice. You didn’t notice the way your eyes were blurred with unshed tears either. Your mind was absolutely buried in the thought of midterms.

I’m not prepared. Im going to fail. I’m a disappointment. I’m so useless, one fucking cough and I end up like this? I don’t even know why I try anym-

“Y/n!” Minho’s voice cuts through the mess swirling through your brain. You look over to where the voice came from and you swear you can see his face crumble the moment he looks at you.

To be fair, you hadn’t looked in the mirror since you took your shower in the morning, but Minho saw something different. He saw disheveled hair, droopy and tired eyes, beads of sweat drooping down your shivering body, and most importantly, tears.

“You told me you would call me if it got worse.” He bitterly spoke, and you felt that cut right through your heart. “I-It didn’t. I’m fine min-“ but he’s cutting you off immediately.

“You’re not fine y/n. You’re literally crying!” He booms, and you can’t help but feel extremely guilty. “Have you ate today? Or at least took medicine?!”

“Uhm, once at like n-nine. Look min I’m sorry! I’m so sorry for not calling you when I was supposed to. B-but my studying. If I stop, I’m not going to make it. I can’t fail min.”

His expression softens at your admission, eyebrows de-furrowing and eyes being replaced by compassion instead of anger and hurt as he walks closer towards you.

“Baby, you don’t need to push yourself so hard. I get it, I love that you want to study. But baby, is it really worth your life?”

Crack

“I know it means a lot, but so do you and your mental health. You can’t push yourself this hard and expect good results. You need to rest.”

Crack

“I love you so much. I can’t stand seeing you like this. Please let me take care of you okay? That’s all I want to do for you love.”

Shatter

You’re sobbing all of a sudden, burrowing your head in his sweatshirt as tears pour as of your eyes like faucets. It’s making your head hurt more, but you didn’t care. You just needed him.

He let you stay there for a while, he knew you needed it. He shushed the small sorries coming out of your mouth, telling you that you didn’t need to apologize. He only pulled you away when you calmed down completely.

“I’m going to get the thermometer. Stay here, my baby.” and he’s off to grab the thermometer you kept on hand from one of the cabinets in the bathroom, coming back with a concerned look on his face.

He quickly rubbed the thermometer along your forehead, reading out your temperature with a sharp ‘beep!’

“101 degrees.” He sighed. “Baby, if this gets any worse, you’re going to have to go to the hospital.”

Your breath hitches and tears spring to your eyes again, which Minho notices immediately.

“Hey, look at me.” He says, using his pointer finger to make you face him. “I’m not going to let that happen. I’m going to do everything I can to make sure you feel better okay?”

You nod along, resting your body back into his comforting arms as he massages your tense shoulders. He’s whispering small praises as he does this, and you swear you can feel your headache dissipating slowly.

While even though it’s going to be a while before you’re completely better, or even a little bit, you knew with him, it would all be okay.

As long as you have him taking care of you, comforting you, and loving you, you know you’ll be okay.

back to masterlist

[bluecollarmcandtf]

The New Garbageman

Lance slowed from his run and glanced at the trash compactor sitting outside his apartment complex. He needed to catch his breath, but he hated being so close. The young man gave a disdainful look to the laborer who seemed wholly unbothered by his choice in career. 'Some men are just meant for menial crap like this,' he thought to himself, 'God knows I wouldn't be caught dead doing it.'

The jogger looked straight ahead as he passed, not wanting to make eye contact with the sucker lugging away a week's worth of his building's refuge. Lance thought the smell alone was enough to make him gag, but he was even more disturbed by the garbageman's indifference to the squishy contents leaking all over his clothes.

'At what point is that worker just considered trash himself?' Lance pondered with a grimace.

Just as he was about to escape into the entrance of the complex, a sharp ripping noise sounded behind him, followed by a clamour of things crashing to the ground.

Lance made the mistake of looking back, seeing a huge mess scattered across the sidewalk. It looked like a garbage can had exploded and now there was rotten food and crumpled papers everywhere, but that damn sanitation worker had vanished!

"The hell!" Lance shouted in anger, but his rage didn't last long.

A sudden pain stabbed him in the back and he crumpled to the ground like all the garbage had moments before. Everything went black...

Lance shook off the daze and found himself leaning against one of the garbage bins. The pain in his back didn't feel as acute anymore. All he could feel was an unusual warmth spreading from where he had been stung.

"Where is that goddamn garbage man," he growled, wincing at the litter surrounding him. He was ready to give that idiot a piece of his mind.

He put his hand on the concrete in an attempt to get himself up, but was surprised by the feeling of gloves over his fingers. Lance stared at his gloved palms with total confusion. He was sure as hell that he didn't put those old worn things on!

Then he noticed his shoes. They weren't the sneakers he'd been jogging in moments before. They were some kind of work boots!

"What the hell!" he exclaimed, wondering if he'd actually been knocked out and robbed.

Lance pushed his fears aside and began climbing to his feet, but as he did, he noticed something had appeared over his shoulders!

"Where'd this come from?" he cried, becoming more and more angry as articles of clothing just kept appearing on his body.

He was positive this dirty old jacket didn't belong to him. It was covered with stains and reeked like a public bathroom. Lance had a habit of always keeping his clothes freshly laundered and fragranced. He wouldn't even wear jeans two days in a row without washing them, so what was this raggedy work jacket doing in his back?

Lance frantically started to pull the thing off, but it seemed stuck on his waistband or something. No amount of thrashing could get him to pull the thing over his head!

He moaned in frustration and threw his fists down angrily. Then, he noticed why the jacket wouldn't come off. It took him a second to realize what he was looking at. The jacket was attached to the new pants he had on!

Lance shouted out in a state of confused panic. "Help!" he cried, not knowing what else to do, but even if someone did come over, what would he tell them? They'd never believe that his clothes were magically being replaced!

He couldn't even bring himself to look down at what he was wearing. Gone were his running shorts and tank top. In their place, a gross old jumpsuit had enveloped his body. Lance was struck by the itchiness of the course material, but he was even more horrified by how damp it felt against his skin. He didn't want to know what liquid those coveralls were saturated with; oil, sweat, or something even worse?

Lance couldn't find his phone in any of his new attire's pockets. He didn't know what was going on, but he was about to start screaming if he didn't find out soon. His breathing intensified while his heart raced out of his chest. He could feel the panic attack coming.

Then all of a sudden, he stopped...

That warm feeling in his back had washed over his entire body and told every tense muscle to relax. Lance's heart rate eased and his breathing slowed. The confusion, worry, and panic in his face was gone: a numb expression sat in its place.

Lance didn't understand why he had suddenly become so calm. Internally, he was still disgusted, horrified, and outraged, but he couldn't deny how relaxed his body had became.

Finally able to gain his bearing, the former jogger climbed up from the ground and gave his new outfit another look.

"What the hell is this thing," he wondered, but his voice had a comparatively lifeless tone.

Lance studied the clothing. The boots were caked with dirt and grime. He could feel his feet sweating inside them. In fact, his entire body felt like it was being cooked. He was completely covered from the neck down with some pretty heavy duty work wear. It was all clothing he would never be caught dead in, yet it looked kind of familiar.

Suddenly it, clicked.

"I'm dressed a goddamn garbage man," Lance spoke again with a monotoned voice.

Then his mouth moved on its own, "I am a garbage man."

The words chilled him to the core. He had not meant to say them! That warm feeling that started in his back had moved to his throat and taken over.

Before he knew it, his hands were moving on their own too. They were picking up the trash littered around him! His legs moved to, crawling his body across the concrete, and Lance couldn't do anything to stop himself.

His mouth wouldn't open when he tried! He wanted to scream! His arms and legs weren't doing what he wanted either. He was trapped in his own body! Lance couldn't speak; he couldn't run; he couldn't hide; he couldn't even panic. His own heart beat at a steady pace like he was the calmest man in the world! His lungs systematically drew in breath after calm breath, and his face was locked in an empty look of indifference...

Lance would have to get used to being around the trash. He was a garbageman now...

One Year Later...

Lance had never imagined he'd be trapped as a garbage collector for this long. His body hadn't let him look back once since he walked away from his old life. Who knows what happened to his apartment and family. He'd long since given up on the idea of ever going back to his old life.

His days were now spent being puppettered to take out other people's trash. It was disgusting hard work that he got no thanks for, but that didn't matter. He wasn't in control of his body, and his body just kept lugging rank bags of garbage day after day after day.

He'd been subjected to millions of dirty looks as people caught sight of him. Lance knew he must seem pathetic. He was sure he smelled even worse. How could anyone respect a man like him? Even after a year, his face still burnt red when someone looked grossed out by him.

The discomfort of his uniform has become normal to Lance. It was itchy and humid under there, which made sense since it hadn't been washed in the all the time he'd had it on.

Well, that wasn't entirely true...

Every night after work, his body would hop on the garbage truck and get dropped off at the sanitation department's parking garage. There he and the rest of the garbage crew would hose each other down. It didn't do much other than make him cold, but at least he got that.

After the makeshift shower, he and the rest of the guys would file into the garage. Lance assumed that every one of the laborers were being used as puppets like him, because they appeared just as numb and lifeless as he did. There was no chummy chitchat; there were no friendly waves or claps on the back; hell there wasn't even a smile or frown on any of their faces.

All the garbagemen acted like robotic slaves for unpaid labor, which is exactly what they were.

Lance's theory was that when he'd felt that pain a year ago, he'd had some sort of Syfy-futuritic-techno crap inserted in his back. It had to be controlling his actions. He could feel it on his spine, sending signals to the resto for his body for how to behave.

It was just a theory. He couldn't prove or disprove anything when he had no autonomy over his own body.

So he was stuck seeing himself play out the same awful routine everyday. 'At least the day's almost over,' he thought to himself. At least he could still dream of a life where he didn't wear this disgusting uniform and pick up garbage all day.

Lance's body joined the rest of the men on the floor. This was where they spent their nights. Whoever was controlling them was clearly too cheap to buy them beds let alone showers or laundry machines

It usually got pretty bleak in there: a whole room of men that aren't allowed to talk or interact outside of working together. There was nothing else to do but sleep, so Lance slid down to the concrete and closed his eyes, wondering if he would ever be anything other than a smelly garbageman ever again.

He thought back to his old life, dreaming about that last morning run he'd gotten before all this happened. He fantasized about what would have happened if he'd just ran around the block one more time.

Would he have avoided this fate or was he just destined for menial crap like this?

Thanks for the Ask, workgearfan

[reidmania]

hey, i love your work!! i had this idea where room comes home and reader is in their room sitting with her legs close to her chest and her hands over her ears. there's like really loud construction or something going on outside and it's really bothering her, + her clothes touching her is really pissing her off (adhd overstimulation!!). he comes home and helps her relax (and maybe puts his hands over her ears for her??).

- 🍓

pretty beating | s. reid

summary; when the world feels like its closing in on you, spencer is there to calm you down.

warnings; fem readers, mentions of overstimulation, nudity and undressing but not sexually, reader is overwhelmed and shuts down, hurt x comfort, fluff

an; stop this was so cute and i lovedd this idea

The construction outside rattles the windows, drilling into your mind. The cacophony of heavy machinery clashes with the beat of your heart, a rising wave of noise that crests and crashes over and over again. You sit on the floor, legs pulled tightly to your chest, trying to make yourself small, trying to disappear. Your hands press hard over your ears, but it doesn’t help. The noise is everywhere. It’s not just in the air; it’s in your head, pounding, digging, drilling into your thoughts until nothing else remains.

You squeeze your eyes shut, but that only makes things worse. With the world gone dark, every other sensation becomes sharper, more unbearable. The texture of your clothes grates against your skin like sandpaper, the seams pressing, irritating, driving you to the edge. Every shift, every tiny movement makes the fabric brush against you again, and again, and again.

You want to scream, but you don’t. The thought of making more noise is horrifying. Your body feels like it's on fire, every nerve screaming under the weight of overstimulation, and you can’t turn it off. You can’t stop it. The sounds outside, the feeling of your own clothes, the light that’s too bright even behind your closed eyelids. Everything is too much. Too loud. Too rough. Too everything.

And Spencer isn’t home. Not yet.

You don’t know how long you’ve been sitting there, curled up in the corner of your shared room. Time blurs when it’s like this. You can’t remember if it’s been minutes or hours, but it doesn’t really matter. All you can focus on is the noise. The noise that won’t stop, the grinding, the pounding, the hammering from outside and the too-tight, too-itchy sensation of your clothes. You try to focus on your breathing, try to count, but it’s hard to keep your thoughts straight.

Somewhere, distantly, you hear the front door open. You want to cry out for help, but your voice is trapped in your throat, swallowed by the oppressive weight of everything around you. Footsteps approach, and for a moment, you think you might be imagining it. Maybe you’ve lost track of time so badly that your mind is playing tricks on you. But then the door to your room opens, and Spencer steps inside.

His face softens when he sees you. He takes in the way you’re sitting, hunched over, your body tight with tension. He doesn’t say anything at first, doesn’t ask you questions. He knows better. He just moves carefully, quietly, coming over to you like he’s approaching something fragile.

He kneels beside you, his voice gentle, quiet, but even that is too much right now. You shake your head, trying to press your hands harder against your ears, trying to block out the world. Spencer’s brow furrows in concern, but he doesn’t push. He doesn’t ask again. Instead, he moves closer and wraps his arms around you, pulling you against his chest.

For a second, you flinch. It’s too much. Everything is too much. But then his hands come up to cover yours, gently pulling your hands away from your ears. You don’t resist. You trust him. And when your hands are free, he replaces them with his own, cupping your ears, shielding you from the outside world. The sounds dim immediately, the sharp edges of the noise softening just enough for you to breathe. It’s not gone, but it’s bearable.

You press your face into his chest, and his heart beats steadily against you. Strong. Solid. He’s saying something again, but you can’t make out the words. It doesn’t matter. You’re not ready for words yet. You just focus on his pulse, on the warmth of his skin through his shirt. The rhythm is steady, grounding, and you try to match your breath to it. In and out. In and out. You focus on the beat of his heart, letting it pull you out of the chaos that’s been clawing at you.

His hands stay firm over your ears, blocking out the worst of the construction noise, and slowly, the world starts to feel a little less overwhelming. The sensation of your clothes, still uncomfortable, fades into the background as you focus on Spencer. Just Spencer. His heartbeat, his warmth, the way he’s holding you without expecting anything in return.

You start to breathe a little easier. The tightness in your chest loosens, and your muscles begin to unclench. Spencer feels the change, and his hands shift from your ears, brushing down to your shoulders in a soothing gesture.

“You’re okay,” he says softly, his voice gentle but firm. “I’m here. Just focus on me.”

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak yet, but you do what he says. You focus on him. You let everything else fall away, piece by piece, until the noise outside is just that—noise. It’s not inside you anymore. It’s not swallowing you whole. It’s just something that exists, and you don’t have to carry it.

Spencer’s hands move again, this time to the hem of your shirt. “Do you want me to help with this?” he asks, his voice soft, tentative. He knows how badly your clothes are bothering you, the way they cling and scratch and suffocate.

You nod again, grateful but still unable to form words. He helps you out of the shirt, careful and slow, making sure to avoid any sudden movements. As soon as it’s off, you can breathe easier. The air feels cooler against your skin, a relief after the stifling sensation of fabric.

Next, he helps you out of your jeans, replacing them with a pair of loose, soft pajama pants. The kind that don’t irritate your skin. You sink into the comfort of it, feeling lighter, less tethered to the constant irritation that had been suffocating you just moments ago.

“Better?” he asks, brushing a strand of hair out of your face.

You finally manage to nod more firmly. “Better,” you whisper, the first word you’ve been able to say in what feels like hours. Your voice is hoarse, but it doesn’t matter. Spencer’s here, and you’re safe.

He pulls you closer again, wrapping his arms around you and resting his chin on top of your head. “I’m proud of you,” he murmurs. “You’re doing great. Just breathe.”

And you do. Slowly, carefully, you breathe in the smell of his shirt, the familiar scent of home and comfort. The construction noise is still there, but it’s far away now. It can’t reach you as long as Spencer is holding you.

For a long while, the two of you sit there, wrapped in each other’s warmth and presence. Your heartbeat begins to match his, steady and calm, no longer erratic and panicked. You’re no longer drowning in overstimulation. You’re no longer lost.

“I’m here,” Spencer whispers again, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. “I’ve got you.”

And for the first time in hours, you believe him. The noise outside, the irritations, the chaos—they’re still there. But you’re not alone in it. Spencer is your anchor, pulling you back to solid ground. And as long as he’s here, you know you’ll be okay.

[burnthatbridge]

8x03 coda

buck being melodramatic about gerrard 'taking him under his wing' also on ao3 if you prefer

Buck spends an age in the shower at the end of their shift. He’s sooty, yes, sweaty, definitely, but no worse than usual, a lot cleaner than he has been on certain occasions — like after trying to dig Eddie out of forty feet of mud, for example. But, even when the water has long run clear, he can’t shake the sensation of being covered with dirt. 

In fact, when he finally shuts off the water, wraps a towel about his hips, his skin scrubbed pink, he almost feels worse, dirtier than when he got in. The surface layer of grime gone, uncovering the muck at the core of him. 

The locker room is almost empty, A-shift long departed: Chim home to Jee and Mara, Maddie heading out for her own shift; Hen meeting Karen for dinner, Denny at a friend’s. And Buck’s been trying to wash himself clean for long enough that B-shift have passed through, all changed from their civvies to their uniforms and headed out into the station, some away on a call. 

The locker room is almost empty. It would be completely so if it weren’t for Eddie. He’s seated on the bench, fully dressed in his street clothes and shoes, hair almost completely dry from his own — significantly shorter — shower, scrolling through his phone. But he looks up as Buck shuffles into the room, eyes on him as Buck opens their locker, hefts out his bundle of clothes and dumps them on the bench, a couple of feet along from where Eddie is sitting. 

“You okay?” he asks, locking his phone, tucking it away in his pocket, entire focus shifted now that Buck’s there. 

Buck nods, reflexively. “’M fine,” he states, aiming to sound it. As he tugs on his boxers, he tries to change the subject, “Thought you’d be out of here by now.”

He and Eddie don’t have plans this evening, and Buck had mentioned at the start of their shift — back in the inverse of this moment, when he’d been sitting on the bench, ready, but chatting to Eddie while he got changed — that he was probably going to see Tommy tonight, so Eddie can’t be expecting them to make any impromptu ones. But there’s no denying that Eddie’s been waiting for him, all the way through his endless, hopeless shower. 

“Hmm,” Eddie hums, but doesn’t say anything further. 

Buck towels his hair furiously, then rubs his shoulders, his chest, his arms down, hard. He feels itchy, like there’s a film over his skin, a coating of filth. He tugs his t-shirt over his head, slides his sweatpants up his thighs. Collapses down on the bench and reaches for his socks, pulls on one, then the other. 

The clothes are clean: the tee, socks, and underwear fresh, and the sweats only donned for an hour that morning, for his trip to work. And yet, he still feels unclean, tainted. 

Buck looks over at Eddie, finds him slouched on the bench, arms braced behind himself, already looking back. 

Buck looks away. Plucks at the fabric of his pant leg, scuffs one socked foot against the other, shrugs his shoulders against the scratch of his shirt tag at the back of his neck. Sighs. Glances over at Eddie again. Finds warm brown eyes still watching him, waiting for him, soft and open. 

“I hate him,” Buck says, low, even though Gerrard has absolutely already left for the day, isn’t around to hear his words, and turns his eyes to the concrete of the floor. 

“I know you do.” Eddie’s voice is as gentle as his gaze. “You’re not alone in that.”

And that’s true, but it’s also not, because– Because Buck has been singled out. And he knows what that means. Has heard all the stories of Gerrard’s first reign of terror, from Hen, from Chim, from Tommy. Knows about the people Gerrard had it out for back then, and the people he had on his side. 

“No,” Buck says, hears how frustrated it comes out, but also how plaintive, “I really, really hate him.”

Eddie doesn’t reply, waits Buck out, while he tries to work the tangle of his thoughts into something resembling a coherent statement that he can say out loud. 

Because he does, he hates Gerrard, who has been so awful to them all, Buck included, but especially the people Buck loves most. Hates him for holding nothing but contempt for them being the thing Buck loves most about them: themselves. 

“He’s– he’s so fucking horrible to everyone.” Buck says, needlessly, because of course Eddie knows this, has been both the subject of Gerrard’s disdain and witness to him turning it on the rest of them. 

Only now, since Buck attempted to murder him and inadvertently ended up saving his life, Buck isn’t included with the rest of them, isn’t subject to Gerrard’s terrible treatment anymore. 

“But, now, he’s being nice to me. Taking me ‘under his wing’.” Just quoting Gerrard’s horrifying pronouncement from that morning makes Buck feel sick, nausea turning his stomach, climbing his throat. He can still feel the ghost touch of Gerrard’s arms around him, poison leaching into him at all the points Gerrard’s body touched his own. “It’s like he wants to mold me into someone just like him.”

Gerrard has seen something in him, recognized the same rot in Buck that resides in his own core. Like calling to like. 

“It’s like I already am.” Buck shivers, scrubbing his hands up and down his own arms, trying, fruitlessly to slough off this feeling, to shed his own skin. The first shower didn’t work, and he could hold out a futile hope that if he takes a second once he gets home it will finally work, but he fears no amount of water can wash him clean of this. The stain on him Gerrard has spotted and identified as kin permeated too deep, sunk too far, into his soul to ever be cleansed. 

“Hey.” Eddie grabs for one of his wrists, squeezes and pulls Buck’s arm down, holds on as he says, “You are nothing like him. And you never could be.”

“But,” Buck argues, clenching his free hand into a fist, taking the pain of his fingernails piercing his palm as penance, “If he wants to– to mentor me, he has to think he can turn me into the sort of man he is. He– he must think I’m like him.”

Eddie snatches Buck’s other wrist, puts pressure into his grip until Buck relaxes his fist, fingers no longer biting into his flesh. “Even if he thinks that, he’s wrong.” Eddie’s tone is vehement, but turns to a scoff as he goes on, “And if that’s his idea of mentorship, he’s as bad at it as he is at being captain. You’re not supposed to coach someone into a version of yourself, you’re supposed to help them become the best they can be.”

“He definitely wants to coach me in his evil ways.” Of that Buck is sure. And it feels like certain doom. 

But Eddie snorts, amused at Buck’s phrasing, not seeming to believe that Buck is standing on the edge, about to fall into an irredeemable version of himself. “I’m sure. But he’s not going to have any success in that, Buck.”

“He’s not?”

“Definitely not. Sure, he’s going to give you terrible advice and you might have to go play golf with him, and do whatever other horrific bonding activities he wants, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to turn you into him. That’s impossible.”

“Really?”

Eddie nods. “He’d have more luck getting Chimney to agree you should always be allowed the clipboard during stock checks, and we all know how likely that is to happen.”

“Chim would never,” Buck says because, really, Chim would never.

“Exactly.” Eddie releases Buck’s wrists, lifts one hand to grip his shoulder instead. “I know it sucks right now but we will be rid of him eventually. And we’ll get Bobby back, your real mentor.” Eddie smiles at Buck then, a tilted, lopsided curling of one half of his mouth. “Not that I think you need mentorship. You’re pretty excellent just the way you are.”

Buck nods, hoping so hard that eventually will come quickly, that they get Bobby back sooner rather than later, and trying to believe in himself. He kind of has to when Eddie believes in him, because he will always believe in Eddie, trust in what he says. But he still feels the cling of Gerrard to him. He scrubs at his bare arms once more. 

“You’re cold,” Eddie says, misinterpreting the motion, perhaps purposefully so. “Here.” He tugs the hoodie he’s wearing up and off, holds it out to Buck. “Take this, you’ll feel better.”

“You don’t need to give me that,” Buck protests.

“Well, I am,” Eddie says, shaking the garment slightly, coaxing Buck to take it. He grins. “Besides, it’s yours anyway.”

It is, Buck realizes as he lets Eddie hand it over, the fabric familiar to the touch, soft and comforting. 

Eddie stands from the bench, shoulders his bag, smiles at him. “Have a nice time tonight. Tell Tommy I said ‘hi’.”

Buck nods as Eddie crosses to the door and leaves, calling a see you tomorrow back over his shoulder. Buck watches his progress out of the station through the glass wall. 

Once Eddie passes out the bay doors, out of sight, Buck pulls the hoodie on. And in it, still warm from the heat of Eddie’s body and smelling like a mix of both of them and the laundry detergent they use at the Diaz house, he finally feels clean. 

[lovesickonmybed]

to hands between legs | 18+

masterlist | xo masterlist | info about palestine | donate to gaza

pairing | bully!ellie williams x loser!virgin!reader

synopsis | ellie williams made your high school experience a living hell, but once you got to college you thought you were finally free…until running into her at a frat party where she humiliates you just like it’s high school all over again.

warnings | 18+ MDNI! bullying, wedgies, dub-con, underage drinking, panty kink, degradation, humiliation, fingering, virgin reader, mommy kink.

word count | 4.4k

a/n | if wedgie kinks make you uncomfortable or seem cringe to you then please keep scrolling and let me indulge in my weird little kinks thank you! also i dropped out of college so if any of this is inaccurate i'm sorry!! i urge you to not buy any of the last of us games, including the remaster as the creator, neil druckmann is a zionist. the second game is based off of the israeli occupation in palestine and you can learn more about that here.

“Dude you are not wearing those to the party tonight!” Your roommate Seline scoffs looking you up and down as you stand in your underwear looking through your clothes in an attempt to find something semi-decent for your first party of the year. You’ve got on a plain white bra and a pair of white hanes panties that sit high up on your waist. 

You turn back to look at her with an annoyed sneer on your face, “They’re called underwear for a reason, they’ll be under my clothes, where no one can see them. I doubt it’ll make a difference, I’m not exactly trying to get laid tonight, especially not by any of those guys.”

“Wearing granny panties at any time besides your time of the month is just…wrong! There’s no way those are comfortable, like seriously I see you pick your wedgie like 20 times a day, just grow up and switch to thongs already.” Your cheeks heat up with embarrassment and you slip on a black skort that stops at your mid thigh before turning back to face your roommate. 

“I do not pick that many wedgies, stop being so dramatic! A thong would just be worse, I don’t want a string up my ass all day…” You retort.

“So instead of a string you want that itchy fabric to bunch up and give you a cottontail? Got it…this is why you haven’t gotten laid yet…” Seline says, side eyeing you.

“I really don’t need this right now, I’m wearing my comfortable and reliable panties and you can have fun telling a frat guy to stop pulling on your thong strings when he’s had too much to drink.”

“My thong is getting taken off by a frat guy tonight, not pulled up, honey. Now hurry up and get dressed so we can go, maybe if you pick the right top someone can look past your choice in underwear,” Seline chuckles.

You roll your eyes playfully and decide on a cropped white tank top, you slip on a pair of black heeled boots and a light wash denim jacket to finish off the look. You want to look alright just in case, you haven’t had the best luck romantically and definitely not sexually since arriving at school. You’ve made out with a few girls at parties but due to your own nerves you haven’t done anything past feeling them up and trying to not cum immediately when their hand is on your thigh. You swear you got more action from your high school bully…

“Come on, if you make me even later than we already are then I’m gonna lose it!” Your roommate commands as you grab your bag from off your bed. You’re not exactly the party type and you sure as hell weren’t in high school, then again you never got a chance to go to parties in high school thanks to Ellie fucking Williams for making you a pariah. You still have no clue what you did to the girl for her to target you as viciously as you did, you barely knew her…maybe she wanted to establish dominance when she arrived in Jackson, sure being the new kid can be tough but it doesn’t exactly call for you to make someone miserable everyday of their life. It started with a shoulder check in the hallway and escalated to you having to budget out having to replace panties on an almost weekly basis due to the waistband ripping wedgies Ellie loved to dish out. 

College was a fresh start for you, a way to escape your past as ‘Wedgie Girl’ and to finally make some friends…but thanks to your busy class schedule and your social awkwardness it’s proven harder than you expected. Your roommate Seline was kind enough to introduce you to some of her friends and you’re pleading with whatever forces are out in the universe that some of them will be there tonight to hang with you when your roommate abandons you for some dick from a sweet, but ultimately brainless frat boy. 

“Do you know if anyone we know is gonna be at the party?” You ask Seline, nervously playing with the hem of your skirt as you both walk the path to the nearby frat house. 

“Uh, I think Taylor mentioned she might be there…I’m not sure when though. But hey, if she’s not I’m sure you’ll find someone to spend your night with if I disappear,” She smiles, nudging your arm with her shoulder playfully. 

“More like when you disappear…”

“Hey! I don’t always disappear!” Seline scoffs.

“If there’s dick from a himbo you do,” you retort.

“Can you blame me? They’re always the sweetest in and out of bed, I can’t help that I like a dumb guy who will actually take care of me after we fuck instead of some asshole who’ll just take my panties after!” On multiple occasions freshman year Seline had some of her favorite pairs stolen by business majors, it was truly unfortunate. 

“Dude I swear to god I’m on a mission to get your panties back tonight, you know I love stealing shit from frat guys. I’m gonna steal your panties back,” you joke to Seline.

“I don’t want them back, they’re probably crusted with cum by now!” Seline laughs.

“Oh my god! Why would you put that image in my head, jesus christ!”

“Sorry, sorry!” Seline is out of breath as she apologizes. 

You reach the lawn of the frat house and you and Seline look at one another.

“If you plan to hookup with someone and stay at their place, text me and share your location, deal?” You say to Seline, making sure to establish a plan for tonight.

“Deal. Same goes for you, babe,” she smirks.

“We both know I won’t be hooking up with anyone but the optimism is appreciated, Seline.”

Seline laughs and throws her arm around your waist as you walk into the party, music playing loudly, the house filled with college students with drinks in their hands. 

You comb the crowd to look for anyone you may recognize but you’re unsuccessful, you frown and pull yourself closer to Seline for comfort. You cup her ear, “I don’t see Taylor yet.” 

“Let me text her and see when she’ll be here,” Seline responds as she pulls out her phone and pulls up Taylor’s contact, she shoots her a text and while she waits on a response y’all go into the kitchen to find something to drink. 

You separate from Seline and look around at all your options, you decide to just grab a Whiteclaw, ignoring how douchey it makes you feel to be seen drinking one. You crack it open and take a sip as Seline pours herself a shot. You lean against the counter as people come up to greet Seline, you feel out of place at this party but you try to ignore the feeling and take another sip.

“Hey, is it okay if I go with them?” Seline motions to the two girls standing where she just was, “I don’t want to leave you alone but we’ve been meaning to catch up for awhile y’know?”

You sigh and bite the inside of your cheek, “Yeah…it’s okay. Go catch up,” you give her a fake smile and in response she gives you a real one.

“I appreciate it, I’m sorry. If you need anything just text me, okay?” 

“Got it. Go have fun for me,” you smile.

Seline gives you a quick hug and turns to the other girls, walking off to the backyard together.

You stay where you are in the kitchen, bobbing your head to the music and mostly aimlessly scrolling on your phone when people watching gets boring. You’re broken out of your trance by a familiar laugh, “Holy shit…you actually made it out of Jackson? I’m shocked, truly.” Even if you hadn’t looked up you’d know exactly who was talking to you. Standing in front of you, a beer in hand, is Ellie Williams. 

You gasp softly and take a long swig from your drink, “I-You-”

“I didn’t know you went here, how’d you even get in?” Ellie asks, taking a step towards you. You can smell the woodsy cologne that’s been her signature scent since high school, she’s wearing a dark green flannel over a black tank top and a pair of black jeans. 

“I-I’m smart…I guess…” You manage to say. You regret it instantly, face heating up when you realize how stupid you sound. 

“Mhm, yeah of course…” She steps closer to you, setting her hand next to your hip on your counter, trapping you slightly as she gets in your personal space, “You know,” she chuckles, “Your roommate is a real dick for letting you leave the dorm like this…”

“What? What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” You ask, instantly regressing back to the insecure high schooler you were just two years ago.

Ellie smirks, wetting her lips with her tongue, “Nothing, I’m just fucking with you, loser. You’re just as easy to mess with as you were in highschool…” 

You look down, avoiding eye contact, and shrink into yourself, “Why…why are you doing this? We’re not in highschool anymore, Ellie. I mean…who even bullies people in college?”

Ellie doesn’t appreciate your attempt to stand up for yourself, “Someone who sees a loser in desperate need of help…you still wear granny panties?” She bites her lip as she watches your face contort into an embarrassed look.

“I…I don’t know what you’re talking about…” You wrap your arms around yourself, trying to self soothe. 

Ellie pauses for a minute, turning around to scope out the house. She grabs your wrist and starts to pull you along with her.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?!” You yell, trying to tug your wrist out of her grip, it’s a futile attempt as she’s always been much stronger than you. 

“Shut up,” Ellie commands, continuing to pull you along with her to the upstairs of the house. The partygoers hanging out on the staircase pay you no mind, continuing their conversations without a care in the world. Ellie pulls you down a hallway, opening one of the doors and pushing you inside, causing you to fall to your knees. Ellie locks the door as you scramble to your feet, mostly out of fear of what substances could be on this carpet.

Ellie turns around to face you, “Take your skirt off.”

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion, “What?”

“Are you stupid? Take your goddamn skirt off,” Ellie sneers.

“What? Why? I-I’m not taking off my skirt for you! And I’m not wearing granny panties!” 

“Then lift up your skirt and prove it. You’ve got a little cottontail poking out of the back of your skirt by the way…nice hanes,” She laughs and pushes you back, causing you to stumble.

“You’re a sadistic bitch!” You exclaim, backing up away from her.

Ellie walks towards you, backing you against a wall, “I think you meant sexy, but that’s alright sweetheart I still understand you.” Ellie grabs you by your shoulders and spins you around, using her arm to pin you against the wall, your face feeling squished against the plaster. She grabs the bottom of your skirt and pulls it up, groaning in disappointment when she realizes you’re wearing a skort. “Fuckin prude,” she mutters before grabbing the waistband of your skort and yanking it down, exposing your white hanes to her.

“Hey! What the fuc-” 

Ellie cuts you off, “Sorry did I tell you to speak?”

“N-No but-”

Ellie cuts you off again by grabbing you by the back of your head and shoving your face even harder against the wall, causing you to whine in pain. “You speak when I tell you to speak, until then shut your goddamn mouth before I gag you.” Ellie slaps your ass and chuckles when you yelp. “Do you still want to stand here and deny that this borderline geriatric pair of panties are granny panties? Huh? I mean, this sure as shit ain’t a thong, but if you’re really so deep in denial I guess I could be generous and turn it into one for you, honey.”

Before you can even think about protesting Ellie grabs your waistband and pulls it up teasingly slow, your eyes go wide as you’re transported back to highschool by the feeling of the cotton fabric sliding against your skin and situating itself between your cheeks. As the fabric begins to sink into your folds you’re transported back to a memory of Ellie giving you a wedgie in the locker room during senior year.

“Shut up and take it, loser! It’s your fault for pissing me off today!” Ellie whisper-yelled as she pulled the front of your panties violently, tears welled up in your eyes as the baby pink fabric was forced into the folds of your cunt.

“Stop! Come on, you really don’t have to do thi-”

Ellie cuts you off with another harsh tug of your panties, your mouth falls open as a sharp pain shoots up your ass. You try to reach back and tug your waistband away from Ellie but she’s quick to pin your wrists against your back, using her body weight to help pin you against the wall. “Don’t you fucking dare! You’re so goddamn defiant, I miss the helpless loser you were in highschool, this was so much easier back then. You knew how to shut up and take it.”

Ellie shoves her leg between your thighs and lets go of your waistband, she uses her now free hand to remove her belt and restrain your wrists with it. “There. Now you have no choice but to take it,” she laughs. You try to squirm out of her grasp but with her thigh pressed against your cunt all it does is make your face heat up and make you hold back a moan of pleasure. Ellie continues to hold you against the wall as she grabs your waistband again, “Ready for me, wedgie girl?” Ellie smirks as she starts to pull your waistband again, pulling harder than before, almost lifting you off the ground with her first pull.

You choke on nothing as she uses your old nickname, feeling you with even more shame as your brain floods with countless memories of your public humiliation at her hands. Your eyes screw shut as you feel the threads snapping against your skin, the painful friction against your most sensitive parts sends pained moans from your lips. 

“P-Please…h-hurts so bad,” you whimper, tears forming in your eyes as you rest your forehead against the wall.

“It’s supposed to, dumbass. I bet you like it though, don’t you? It’s the most attention your little virgin cunt has ever gotten, huh?” Ellie snickers. 

“I-I’m not a virgin!” You reply.

“Bullshit. I doubt you’ve even had an orgasm…poor thing, bet your poor little pussy just leaks from the slightest attention…I could breathe on it and you’d cum. It’s a miracle you haven’t cum yet, I’m pratically fucking you with these,” Ellie pulls harder, getting you onto your toes to emphasize her point. Ellie giggles, “You know what, you’re not a virgin I’ve already fucked you with your panties.”

You mewl with embarrassment which sends Ellie into a fit of laughter, once she calms herself she lets go of your waistband. You sigh in relief as you think she’ll let you go but once you feel her grasp on your leg holes your eyes go wide. You’re not getting off that easy. 

“You know what, let me rip these and I’ll give you a pity orgasm, how does that sound, loser?”

“No, come on! Ellie don’t rip these!” You plead.

“Oh come on, nerd. I’ve already stretched them out, they’re unwearable, just let me have my fun,” Ellie begins to lift you by the leg holes of your panties. You cry out in pain, your legs kicking out of instinct as you feel the fabric of your panties pulled back and through your cunt, the fabric scraping against your cunt in such a way that causes you to begin to cry.

“Can’t believe you’re already crying, you went fucking soft on me, nerd. Guess I gotta do this everyday and build your tolerance back up,” she says in a patronizing tone. 

“No, no, no, please…Ellie…” Your breath is ragged as she continues to split your ass with your panties, showing no mercy as she bounces you, the sound of threads ripping fills the room.

“Oh come on, baby, you can take it. Don’t tap out now, you’re so close,” Ellie coos, snaking one of her hands around to grab the front of your panties and begins pulling from the front too. You scream in pain and she lets go and begins to scold you, “Shut the fuck up! Are you trying to get caught? You want everyone to see you getting fucked with your panties?” 

You sniffle, “N-No…”

“Then shut. the. fuck. up. and take it. Got it, slut?” She questions.

“Got it…”

Ellie resumes and you bite your lip to hold back your pained noises as she bounces you by the front and back of your panties, making you feel like you’re being split in half. You can’t remember the last time you were in this much pain and you hate how soaked it gets you, a wide wet patch is very visible in the gusset of your panties. It doesn’t take many more pulls for the panties to finally rip, you moan loudly in pain and pleasure as you feel the fabric rip against your cunt. Ellie is quick to grab you by your waist, old hand holding the ripped pair of panties as she helps you to the floor. You sit against the wall and catch your breath, looking up at Ellie completely wrecked. Your mascara is smudged beneath your eyes and you have red marks on your hips. 

Ellie squats down to your level, “You okay?” She asks softly, reaching towards you to trace the marks on your hips. Her gentleness confuses you, when she bullied you in high school she would’ve just let you fall to the floor and leave you to deal with the aftermath.

“I-I think so…” You mumble.

She reaches up and cups your cheek, “Can I finger you?” She looks down at your red puffy cunt, licking her lips as she imagines you mewling for her as she stuffs your cunt. 

“I…No one has ever…y’know…touched me like that before…” You explain shamefully.

“I wanna make you cum, loser. Wanna feel your cunt clench around my fingers.”

You look up at Ellie with glassy eyes, whining at the thought, “Why?”

Ellie looks down, her cheeks turning red, “Because I think you’re hot…and I’ve been wanting this for years…”

“You have?” You ask, brows furrowed as you scan her face for any hint of a lie.

“Yeah…I…I like how you sound when I torture your pretty pussy, wanna make it feel good this time, wanna reward you for how you took that wedgie.”

You think it over for a minute before you nod, “I want your fingers inside of me, please.”

“You want it on the bed, baby girl?” She asks, nodding her head towards the bed of whatever poor boys room you two have only just begun to desecrate. 

“Yeah. Can you untie me too please,” you ask softly, lifting your restrained hands behind your back.

“Oh shit, I forgot I even did that. Let me get that off you,” Ellie helps turn you around and removes the belt restraining your hands and slips it back onto her jeans. She takes your wrists in her hands to check for marks, “They should only be a little sore…I’d wear long sleeves till the marks go away unless you feel like coming up with a story about how they got like that.”

You nod and let her help you onto the bed, you wince in pain as you sit on the bed, the soreness in your ass already kicking in.

Ellie tilts her head and leans towards you, looking down at your lips, “Can I kiss you?”

You nod, wetting your lips with your tongue. She leans in and presses her lips to yours, kissing you softer than you could’ve ever imagined from her. There’s a masochistic part of you that had always had a crush on Ellie, you had dreams of her fingering you, eating you out, hell even taking you on dates. But you had never imagined she’d really kiss you, especially not like this. You kiss her back and are quick to deepen the kiss, Ellie smirks against your lips at your eagerness and pulls you into her lap, spreading your legs and cupping your cunt. She uses you gasping at the sudden contact to slip her tongue into your mouth and you moan into her mouth once she starts to massage your clit. Your body feels like it’s on fire and you beg the universe to not let you cum before she can even get her fingers inside of you. 

She pulls away from your lips, a trail of saliva still connecting them as she moves her mouth down to your neck. She presses a kiss below your ear and whispers, “Gonna take off your shirt baby, wanna suck those pretty tits.”

That alone is enough to make you grip her hair tightly and whine. You help her remove your shirt and she’s quick to remove your bra as well, beginning to trail kisses down your neck. “You’re so fucking pretty, got perfect tits…for a loser…” She snickers. 

This time it doesn’t feel malicious, it makes your clit twitch and your breath hitch. 

“You like when I’m mean to you, don’t you? Bet you’d go home after school everyday and play with that pretty pussy of yours and think about what I did to you…Bet it got you wet once I got everyone calling you wedgie girl…” Ellie smirks at you, admiring the embarrassed expression on your face.

“Shut up…” You giggle.

She smiles and starts to leave hickeys on your neck and collarbones, drawing whines and whimpers out of you with ease. She pulls back to admire her work, “I’d suggest you invest in a turtleneck, sweetheart,” she chuckles.

“Shit…what’s my roommate gonna say?” You mutter, brushing your hair out of your face as you try and think of an excuse to give Seline.

“Are you with her or something?” Ellie asks.

You shake your head no, “God no…she just knows I haven’t done anything like this before…never came back to our dorm with a hickey before either.”

“You’re so innocent it’s fucking adorable,” Ellie says, leaning forward and kissing you again. She pulls away and leans down to press kisses to your tits, nibbling slightly here and there, making you whine once she takes one of your nipples into her mouth, tweaking the other with her hand. “Fuck…Ellie…” you whine, tilting your head back as she worships your tits.

She trails a hand down to your cunt, slapping it lightly, making you yelp. She laughs softly and presses her ring and middle finger against your folds, swiping up some of your slick and bringing her fingers up to her mouth to taste you. She takes her fingers into her mouth and sucks your slick off, moaning at the taste, “You taste as good as you look, sweet girl.”

She leans forward to kiss you and slowly slips two fingers inside of you, you gasp against her lips and buck your hips forward. “Oh fuck…”

“I haven’t even started baby,” she laughs. She begins to pump her fingers in and out of your cunt, whispering praises to you as she brushes her thumb against your cunt. She bites her lip as you whine her name, reaching out to grip the bed sheets. “You’re so tight, bet you’ve been needing this huh…”

“Y-Yes mommy, needed it so bad,” you mumble, too engrossed in your own pleasure to truly realize the words leaving your lips. 

Ellie stops and tilts her head, looking at you with her jaw dropped, “Did you…did you just call me mommy?”

“Fuck…I-I’m so sorry, it just sli-” Ellie cuts you off by resuming her pace, speeding up her movements quickly to make you fall apart.

“Tell mommy how fucking good it feels,” Ellie commands. 

You’re quick to follow her orders, muttering pathetically about how good she’s making you feel. “Mommy…I fucking…I’m so close, need to…”

“Need to cum, don’t you pretty girl? Gonna make you cum, gonna make my pretty baby make a mess all over my lap.” Ellie curves her fingers inside you, hitting right where you need until it sends you over the edge. You let out a string of moans as you collapse forward onto Ellie, burying your face in her neck and you moan incoherently. Ellie works you through your orgasm, rubbing your back whispering praises as you come down. She sucks your juices off her fingers, continuing to rub your back and praise you as you catch your breath.

“Fuck…thank you…” You whisper, your head still buried in the crook of her neck.

Ellie smiles and pulls you close to her, “Anytime, loser.”

You roll your eyes and giggle, the word no longer feels hurtful but instead playful. Ellie pulls you off her lap and grabs your ripped panties off the floor, using them to clean you up. “These are coming home with me,” Ellie says, holding the ripped fabric up in front of your face.

You try to snatch them away from her but she’s quicker than you, stuffing them in her back pocket. “Nuh uh, these are mine now, loser. Need something to help me get off when I think about this again.”

She helps you redress and tries to help fix your hair and smudged makeup, it’s all futile thanks to the hickeys she decorated your neck and collarbones with. “You know it’s pretty dark out there, I doubt anyone will notice,” Ellie says, motioning to your hickeys.

You roll your eyes and give her a look that says ‘really?’ “Ellie, these are impossible to miss, my roommate is never gonna let me live it down.”

“I can’t help that I’m so good at humiliating you,” Ellie giggles, wrapping her arms around your waist, nuzzling her face into your neck.

“Shut up and take me back to my dorm,” you say playfully, nudging her with your head.

“Round two?” She asks hopefully.

“I’ll consider it…”

[yawnderu]

Lamb of God — Nikto x Medic!Reader | Part I

Shot, stabbed, beaten... Mikhail has been through hell countless times, yet no amount of training or experience from years in Spetsnaz could ever prepare him for what Victor Zakhaev did to him. 8 missing nails, multiple new wounds on his already scarred body, and a face so disfigured he could no longer recognize himself— not only was his body broken, but so was his psyche.

His first visit was with the medics, wounds in desperate need of cleaning even with infection starting to set in most of them, the chemical burns on his face already blistering and itching despite being scolded by the medic multiple times for scratching himself. He was a difficult patient to say the least— not wanting anyone to touch his injuries or even look at him, only accepting treatment from the only person who dared confront him.

“'Stop that.” Your request comes in a sharp tone, not wanting him to itch his blistering injuries and make the scarring worse than what you knew it would be. A mumbled ''don't tell me what to do'' makes its way to your ears, though you decide to ignore it when he puts his hands way, adhesive bandages decorating his fingers where the nails had been ripped off.

“Sit up for me.” The man is an aggressive dog that defends himself with fangs bared, yet he somehow listens to your commands— even when he scoffs or grumbles before finally doing what you ask. Your gloved hand goes to his chin as you examine the red skin on his face, noting it was washed when he was first rescued, no residue of the acid left. He mumbles something and you raise an eyebrow, waiting for him to repeat himself.

“Is it gross?” His deep voice asks, accent even rougher with the raw emotion he's feeling. He knows for a fact it's gross, he saw it himself— he has blisters covering over half of his face, still remembering the acid dripping down his face from Zakhaev simply wanting to cause him pain.

“I've seen worse— at least you still have a face.” Being a medic for the military allowed you to see both human cruelty, and the extends injuries could go. You've seen multiple soldiers missing their face, skin pulled and bones poking out of their bodies— Mikhail's injuries aren't the worst you've seen, not even close.

“Your nose doesn't look too weird either, even when I was told it was broken. Your eyes still work, all your limbs are still attached... you'll recover from everything in no time.” You try to keep a positive attitude despite the way his baby blue eyes are staring holes into your head, pupils looking tiny despite the dim light in the room.

“I'm mostly worried about what's going on here.” You tap his head softly and he doesn't take long on pushing your hand away softly, a small smile making way to your lips when you notice how he avoids eye contact for a second before he's back to staring at you. You stare back for a while, trying to decipher what he's feeling before going to grab a cloth, filling a small bucket with cold water and making your way back to him.

“This might hurt a little bit, let me know if you want me to stop and we can take a break.” He looks down at the bucket of water and the cloth you're dipping in, squeezing the excess water as you wait for his approval. He gives you a nod in affirmation, flinching slightly as the cold cloth makes contact with his face. It doesn't hurt as much as he imagined— if anything, it feels almost soothing, the previous ache and itchiness disappearing even if only for a very short while.

“Заканчивай быстрее с этой хернëй.” He mutters under his breath despite how good it actually feels on his injuries, not wanting to get any pity from you.

“Be patient.” It almost feels like he's getting scolded by his nana, faint memories of the old woman cleaning his scrapped knees come to mind, holding onto them to try and stop the bad thoughts from flooding his damaged brain.

“Mikhail.” Your soft voice slowly brings him back to reality, feeling an odd sensation all over his face. His hand goes up to feel his cheeks, only now realizing that you already dressed his wounds. He looks utterly confused, not even remembering you getting gauze, everything happening too suddenly. Now that he thinks about it, he doesn't remember most of the heli flight back home, too busy thinking about... what was he even thinking about?

“Mikhail.” You repeat, one of your gloved hands going to his shoulder in attempts to make him look at you. He's still staring blankly at the floor, just as he has been doing for the past 20 minutes, not responding to his own name.

“Quiet, I hear enough voices.” He brushes you off, finally getting up from the medical bed and quickly leaving your office despite the small limp from the beatings he took for days.

He hears voices? His next stop will have to be with the provided psychiatrist once his body recovers a little bit to test if he's still fit to be part of Spetsnaz, leaving your heart filled with worry until you move onto the next patient, making a mental note to check on him later.

A/N: Mikhail is Nikto's name in this fic, the person he used to be before turning into Никто.

[bamboozledcorvid]

Head Canons for my favourite Neurodivergent X-men characters (I don’t think any of them are confirmed neurodivergent)

Scott Summers: (ASD)

- NEEDS schedules for daily life, he can be thrown into battle and adapt his plans to save everyone but if u ask him to go to the shop he needs a list; which shop, when it’s open, what is he buying, how he’s getting there and back.

- very particular about his things, no one can touch his things without setting him into a frenzy. He tries to remain calm and avoid having a meltdown but will be in an awful mood and semi verbal until the issue is resolved.

- Textures are bad. He hates anything that feels wet, sticky or slimy. He can’t handle it at all and he’s hopes none of his enemies ever find out because it’s the worst physical torture he can think of.

- If he’s focused or obsessed on something it becomes the only thing that matters to him. He won’t eat, he won’t sleep, he won’t talk to anyone until he’s completed what he has to do.

- special interests are war, heroes and his wife. It’s all he talks about, he is only interested in talking to you if it’s about battle strategies, fighting techniques, or Jean Grey.

- info dumps about unpleasant or inappropriate topics and can’t understand why people don’t want to talk about it or will tell him to shut up. He’s also seen as ‘blunt’ and ‘rude’ because he’s overly honest.

Pietro/Peter Maximoff: (ASD/ADHD/DYSLEXIA)

- Physically vibrates when he stims, he’s a leg bouncer and an arm flapper but at an insane speed, he’s burnt holes in carpets with his leg bouncing.

- despite how fast his hands move his mind still moves faster so his writing and spelling are all over the place because even he can’t keep track of his thoughts. Will often miss letters or completely skip a few words. (This also applies to his reading skills).

- safe foods consist mainly of sugary snacks and sweets. If he’s overstimulated (which he usually is) or if he’s had a stressful had he can only eat safe foods, any attempt to get real food into him only makes his mood worse and snacks are better than nothing.

- very particular about his clothes, he can’t have tags or itchy hems and he definitely can’t have anything that sits wrong when he’s running. Has been the victim of extreme carpet burn due to trying to run in unsuitable clothes just because they had a nice texture.

- either talks to fast and no one can understand him or simply doesn’t talk at all. Despite how loud and talkative he seems he’s used to the silence because no one can keep up with him (physically or mentally) because he moves to fast. So if a conversation is particularly slow and boring he’ll just leave. He’d rather be in silence than be bored.

[howlingday]

Prompt Idea: Pyrrha is feeling real sad and her teammates find her so they decide to lay down on the grass with her to help her feel better. (It works)

"Haaah..."

"Everything okay, Pyrrha?"

"It's nothing." It was a lot of things. The recent flux of difficult assignments as a result of their graduation from first years to second. The fact Jaune was still hesitant to kiss her after they'd made themselves official. Her occasional flashbacks to that night of the Vytal Tournament. She was lucky to survive, if only with the help of her sister team's leader having a magical trump card to scare off Cinder Fall, who was still out there. In a way, it was all those things. "I promise."

"You'd even give your word on it?" Jaune asked with a raised brow. Damn! Caught! She could lie and give her word, but she saw angry Jaune got when Cardin broke his word when he started messing with Ruby. She didn't want that. At least not directed at her. "Pyrrha?"

"I... can't. Sorry."

"You don't have to apologize, Pyrrha. We're here for you." Looking across the room where Ren sat on his bed. "All of us. Right, Ren?"

"Yes." He nodded. "And Nora would agree if she were here."

"If who was what?" Nora entered, carrying a basket and a large blanket. "Sorry, I was busy planning a surprise!"

"Is the surprise a picnic?" Jaune asked.

"Well, since you spoiled it," she dropped the heavier than they look items onto him, making their leader sink into his bed, "YOU get to plan it!"

"A picnic doesn't sound like a bad idea." Ren looked to Pyrrha. "Maybe some fresh air will help you feel better."

"Oh, are you sick, Pyrrha?" Nora began lifting Pyrrha's arms, gently tugging at fingers as she did. "You didn't break anything, did you?"

"No, Nora." Pyrrha chuckled. "And maybe you're right, Ren. Maybe a picnic would help me."

--------------------------------------------------

It did not help at all. If anything, Pyrrha felt worse than before because now she was itchy and picking bugs out of places she never had before! She and Nora had to check each other's more "intimate" parts, same with Ren and Jaune, and Nora was probably a lot more rough than Ren or Jaune were to each other.

And if ticks weren't the worst of it, the discovery of ringworm on the soles of their feet definitely filled that gap. Everyone's feet were so itchy, it was one of the few times she was grateful to still have her connections from her competitive days. Same-day delivery to the rescue, as Nora put it.

"Never again! Never again!" The pink girl shouted as she scratched a bug bite that wouldn't go away. "There's a reason kids don't touch grass anymore!"

"It's not that bad." Ren said. "Just don't think about it." He sat quietly for a moment before reaching to his arm. His other hand slapped it away, unwittingly striking where a bug bite was located. He started rubbing his sore hand, then scratching it.

"Well, bug bites aside," Jaune came in from the bathroom, new set of clothing on, "I'd say it was a pretty good day."

"Really?" His team asked in unison.

"Uh, well, we had fun until the bugs, right?"

"And the itching?" Ren asked, moving from scratching his hand to scratching his arm.

"And the bugs on my-"

"Yeah!" Jaune held out his hands, shutting his eyes and looking away. "Yeah, all of that." He opened his eyes to see Pyrrha looking at him. "Did you have fun, Pyrrha?"

"I... I did." She nodded. "And while I won't say I'm going to look back on this part of the experience with fond memories, it was nice to sit in the grass with you." He returned the smile she gave him.

"I'm gonna take the laundry downstairs." He explained as he walked past the self-scratching Ren and Nora and pulled the soap from the closet. "Anyone mind keeping me company?"

"I don't mind at all." Pyrrha slid off her bed. "Especially since this is partly my fault."

"Partly?" Nora asked with a quirked brow. She received narrowed brows in return. "Okay, yeah, partly."

"Nobody blames you, Pyrrha. If anyone should be blamed, it should be me for planning this picnic thing."

"Wait, didn't Nora-" Ren was hushed by Nora, who slapped her hands over his mouth.

"Yup! Jaune did it!" She exclaimed. She then flinched as Ren grabbed her wrists, right on her bug bite.

"I grew up pretty close to a field. I should've known better."

"That's very sweet of you to say, Jaune, but it was my... slump that drove us out there."

"Actually, it was the bullhead pilot who drove us." Jaune corrected. "And we were already planning to go outside for a while. We've been cooped up, dealing with all our homework, so I brought up the idea that we should have a day out to Nora and she went grabbed everything for the trip. Right, Nora?"

The girl didn't respond as she and Ren had engaged in an odd game that took the term 'scratching my back' too literally. Her fingers dug into Ren's back while the long-haired boy began scraping up and down her sides, sliding to below her beltline. They both made uncomfortable to hear sounds for the official couple.

"Uh, so, laundry?" Pyrrha asked with a blush.

"Yeah, and maybe some cold water for these two." Jaune mumbled as he took hold of the laundry basket.

"Oh, and Jaune?"

"Yeah, Pyr-" She pressed her lips to his, following her as she pulled away. "Th-Thanks, Pyrrha."

"You're welcome, Jaune."

All in all, it was a pretty good day.

[the-s1lly-corner]

Prompts 1, 2, 8, and 10 with Brahms

And with most of the prompts done with Jason, at least with the current list, its time to move on to the next slasher.. need to rewatch the boy. Loved the first movie, second movie almost killed my joy for it. Idk what it was I just. Did not like the 2nd movie

MUTUAL PINING

ONE BED TROPE

Crawls into bed with you, very casually. He might ask first, if hes feeling polite.. but most of the time he doesnt. Expects cuddles, so you better at least snuggle into his back. Warm, very warm. Hairy, though, so a little itchy. Is not a morning person, will try to keep you in bed for as long as possible until finally letting you get a start on your chores for the day. If you let him sleep with you once it quickly turns into him sleeping with you a few times a week

SICK

He is sooo.... needy when hes sick. More so than he already is, hes going to be stuck in bed. It's going to take some convincing to get him to stay in one of the beds inside the house instead of staying his in his "bedroom"... just for easier access to him. Constantly asks for you to come see him because hes bored and just wants a distraction from the terrible pressure in his sinuses. Reluctant to let you go out to town to pick up medicine and soup, but ultimately let's you go because the discomfort is just so much. Gets genuinely upset when the things you get him dont immediately help relieve his symptoms.. HAAAAATES when one side of his nose is stuffy and the other isnt. Terrible sensory feeling, I'll tell you that. Even worse if it happens to your ears

You both have crushes on each other! Brahms probably already knows, if you've written it down somewhere in a journal. Hes either snooped or watched you write it. Does that still count as snooping..? He lets the fact that you like him back get to his head, prompting him to tease you a little more and be more bold just to get a reaction out of you and make you spend even more time with him, or just to see you turn red. You notice that behavior, he wants your attention more than ever now and even slinks out of the walls to spend time with you.. and oddly enough he seems jealous of the doll, sometimes putting it to the side so he can be the one taken care of

SHARING CLOTHES

He steals your clothes literally all of the time. It doesn't matter that he very likely can't fit into him (hes a pretty big dude! The actor is 6'3!) He just likes having your stuff around in his space because it brings him comfort. Just.. try not to get mad, it's only going to either make him double down or give you the cold shoulder.. on a similar note hes probably going to steal your body sprays, either snagging a few sprays for himself or taking the entire bottle

[bagopucks]

A. Matthews - Mean Words Hurt People

✄————————————

Auston Matthews x Fem!reader

Requested✨

Word Count: 2.1k

Warning(s): none! Just light angst.

—————————————

“Hudson just take the pills.”

“No!”

“Hudson please! They’ll help.”

“No! Go away! I can’t do it, I hate you!”

It had been an awfully stressful week. Auston and I were both feeling the irritability. With the second round knock out, I was patient. I assumed he might need time alone or with his team, and it was time I was willing to grant. What I hadn’t expected was for him to dive headfirst into the fire. I worried that we never got time to discuss it or that he never got time to cope with it, but at the same time I wondered if Auston coping was spending time planning our wedding and being a father to Auston. I always wanted to ask, but I never wanted to overstep my boundaries.

Until it came to hell week. Hudson’s allergies had been horrible. I worked overtime almost every night, and Auston was left with most of the work. It was bumpy, sure, but even if it had been myself and Hudson, I knew it still would have been bumpy. Hudson was tired and cranky, and stuffy and itchy and miserable. Auston was miserable navigating everything, trying to keep the kid happy, trying to make him take his pills, trying to find ways to entertain him. I felt horrible coming home each night, some worse than others. Some more peaceful than expected.

Some days Auston would be out cold on the couch, his clothes a mess, his hair pulled up, exhaustion laced in his furrowed brow. Other days I could hear the screaming and fussing from Hudson well before I even got up the front porch steps.

Hudson’s allergies and attitude couldn’t have come at a worse time. Halloween was around the corner and I had so many plans as to how I wanted to share it with Auston and Hudson. The last thing I wanted was for my miserable and moody kid to put those on the back burner. Especially because it was a chance to go out and have some family fun. Even if we hadn’t been the most stable of families recently.

I reminded Auston to be patient, but it was never really him that seemed ready to give up. Sure he got overworked, sure he was as miserable as Hudson, and as lost, but not once had he turned to me and told me he couldn’t do it. Until the night I came home to quite the tense scene. Auston sitting on the couch with his head in his hands. Toys were everywhere, Hudson was nowhere. He looked a mess. He looked exhausted. And when he looked up at me and told me he needed a break, I couldn’t get mad. I understood. When Hudson had spells like these, I often found backup was the best way to handle it.

“Was it worse today?” I asked softly as I closed the door, assuming Hudson was asleep.

“I stopped asking myself that a while ago.”

“I’m really sorry, hun.” I sat down next to him on the couch, gentle as I rested my hand on his back.

“I don’t know what his problem is.” The tension in his voice was something foreign to me. Auston was usually so collected and relaxed.

“It’s just his allergies. He just doesn’t understand why he’s feeling so miserable, and why it won’t go away. Just give him time.”

“I really need a break.” A piece of me wanted to tell him parenthood is a full time job. But I couldn’t, because while I knew it was a full time job, I liked my vacation days. And the perfect babysitter came in the form of my mother.

“Maybe Hudson needs a few days with grandma.”

“You think?” I pulled back at the tension in his tone. “I’m sorry.” Auston was quick to apologize, running his hands through his hair and sitting back. When I finally got a good look at his face, I raised a brow. There was more than just exhaustion in his features.

“Did Hudson say something to you?”

“What?” I watched Auston’s deep brown eyes meet my own. “No.”

“Aus. Did something happen?” I quickly placed my hand on his thigh.

“No. Okay? It’s fine. I just- I’d like to go home… alone- to sleep in my bed. With my dog.”

“Okay… okay if that’s what you need. Auston, just- I’m here for you. Okay?”

Auston stood up, and I watched him walk toward the door. For reasons I didn’t understand, he was more than overworked. He didn’t seem interested in sharing, but I assumed a full night of rest would help. “Drive safe, okay?” I watched him nod as he put his shoes on, and I locked the door behind him after he left. I hoped to delve deeper into the issue when Hudson awoke in the morning.

“Hey sweetie.” I spoke from the stovetop, cooking a few eggs for Hudson to eat for breakfast. I watched the boy peek around the kitchen and dining area before he padded off into the living room. When he returned, he came to my side and hugged my leg. “Sleep well?”

“Okay.” His distant and somber tone made me sigh. Both of my boys were anything but happy. It hurt knowing I could do nothing to help either.

“We have to talk, okay?” I watched his big eyes shoot up to my own. I wondered if he already knew what was on my mind. “Go sit. I’ll bring your plate over.” And I did just that. Once I finished cooking the eggs, I put them on a small plate and grabbed a fork, carrying the items over to set them down on the table. I pulled my chair out across from Hudson. The lack of Auston at our table was oddly unsettling. We’d both grown used to his presence in the mornings.

“Auston‘s really stressed.” The mention of the man lost my son’s interest. His eyes didn’t lift from his plate. “You’re not making things easy, hun. And I understand your allergies are killing you, but that doesn’t give you any right to be difficult or mean.”

Hudson dropped his fork on his plate, looking down at his lap.

“Have you been mean?” I leaned forward slightly, listening in the silence. Listening until I heard a quiet sniff. “Hudson?”

“I didn’t mean it.” His broken tone made me raise a brow.

“Honey, what didn’t you mean?”

“Did I make him leave? I didn’t want him to leave. Is it my fault?” His questions made me shoot up from my chair to cross the table, kneeling on the floor by Hudson.

“Honey.” I spoke in a stern yet soothing tone, reaching upwards to cup his tear stained cheeks. “Hudson you could never scare Auston off. He loves you.” I cooed.

“I’m so sorry, momma… I didn’t mean it!” Somewhere in the midst of the chaos, mistakes had been made, and i finally understood the issue. An issue I never should have left Auston alone with. “I don’t really hate him… I didn’t mean it.”

“Hudson, why would you say that?”

“I didn’t mean it, momma.” His quiet cries turned into sobs.

“Shhh.. okay honey.” I rubbed my son’s head, my heart hurting for both Auston and Hudson. They both needed comfort I wish I could have provided sooner.

“I don’t hate him.” Hudson whispered in a broken tone.

“I bet Auston would like to know that.”

“Not if he’s mad at me.” I shook my head.

“He still loves you, honey.” I wiped his tears one last time. “You just need to apologize.”

From day one, Auston’s mind had been plagued with worries. What if he wasn’t good enough? Or what if he couldn’t be a good father? What if he wasn’t cut out for all the responsibilities, or he couldn’t be a good role model? He never actually prepared himself for the day the kid he’d worked so hard to earn the favor of, would say he hated him. Auston had been floored when Hudson screamed it across the house. It was worse than any pain he’d ever felt before. It was the last thing he’d wanted. And he didn’t know how to tell me. I couldn’t blame him. Because it was a situation I didn’t actually understand. When I turned up with Hudson on his doorstep, a piece of me didn’t expect him to be home, but sure enough, Auston had opened the door just minutes after knocking. Felix stood at his feet, clearly oblivious to the situation, panting excitedly at the sight of Hudson. His best friend.

“Hey Aus.” I flashed the man a tender smile. Auston breathed a sigh that made his shoulders droop.

“Hey.. is everything okay?” Auston opened the door wider, an invite inside. I hesitantly stepped into the home, resting a hand on Auston’s hip and pressing a quick kiss to his chest.

“I came to check on you.. Hudson did too.”

“I was uh.. Felix needs to go on a walk.”

“Let me handle it.” I slid past Auston to grab the dog’s leash, calling Felix and kneeling to get him hooked up. “I’ll be back soon.”

I had faith in my boys making up. Despite the fact that Auston wasn’t Hudson’s father yet, I still knew that they had the ability to talk about their emotions and communicate well. They had never fought before… but I had faith they could apologize and move on.

“Mom,” Hudson called for me softly.

“I’ll be back soon, honey. I promise you’ll be okay.” I pressed a kiss to my son’s head before patting his back, and gently pushing him inside. “Fifteen minutes max. That’s how long I’ll be gone.” I reassured both boys before stepping out the door. Auston hesitated before shutting it behind me.

Was I worried? Sure. But again, I knew they’d be fine.

Auston shuffled his feet nervously for a moment before glancing back down the hallway. “You thirsty, bud?” He asked Hudson, the two making eye contact for the first time since their fight.

“A little.” Neither knew how to begin the conversation, so instead, Hudson and Auston walked down the hall and fetched two glasses of water, before settling in the living room on the couch.

“Your mom wants us to talk.. doesn’t she?” Auston took initiative, holding the cold glass of water between his hands.

“Yeah.” Hudson nodded, eyes examining his own water like a science experiment.

“I’m sorry your allergies have been so bad.” Auston slid a bit closer. “I know that stuff sucks. And I wish I could have been a better help.”

“Mom said we’re gonna see a doctor next week.” He paused. “She said they’re gonna give me something that should work better than the pills.”

“Hudson I was only trying to help.” Auston could barely handle dancing around the subject, so he decided to face it head on.

“I know.” Hudson’s little voice quivered.

“There’s nicer ways to treat the people trying to help you. And I understand if you had frustrations. It’s okay to have those, but there’s better way to communicate frustration than insults. Mean words hurt people.”

“I’m sorry,” Hudson whispered, peeking up at Auston, guilt in his sad features. “I don’t hate you.” The words took a huge weight off the shoulders of both boys. Auston let out a shaky sigh, and Hudson felt far less guilty than before. “I’m really sorry.”

“It’s okay.. Hudson it’s okay.” Auston set his glass of water down, reaching for Hudson, who slowly got up and climbed into his lap. Auston rubbed Hudson’s back while the boy sat with him, a mutual understanding between them that there was still love shared. Their relationship remained strong despite what had happened.

“You’re not mad?” Hudson pulled his head from Auston’s shoulder to look at the man.

“Nobody’s perfect, Hudsy. You’ll learn that as you grow up.. and you’ll make other mistakes. Just like I will. And that’s okay. It’s important that people have patience with one another… I’m not mad. I love you so much. Just do me a favor and try to communicate a little better in the future when you’re upset, okay?”

“You’ll help me.. right?”

“Absolutely.”

✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾

[avengerscompound]

Shared Experience - Chapter 2

Shared Experience - A Captain America Fanfic

Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Rating:  E

Warnings:  Canon typical violence and the usual vampire stuff

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Rose Astor

Word Count: 2346

Summary:  Rose Astor met her end in 1920, joining the ranks of the living dead two years after the birth of Steve Rogers.  A century later the two meet in battle - a beacon of light clashing with a creature of the night.  Despite their differences, the two bond over their shared life experiences.  Can a vampire become an Avenger?  Can two such different beings create a life together?

Chapter 2

The cell was cold and sterile and lit far too brightly for Rose’s taste but lacked any natural light sources; under the circumstances, she was grateful for that.  She could feel dawn’s arrival nearing.  The urge to go to ground was clawing through her, making her skin itch and her teeth hurt.  Despite the fact she should be safe here, her body didn’t like being so far above ground without being encased with soil or a coffin.

When Captain America had caught her, she’d pleaded to be put somewhere dark.  The spinal injury had kept her incapacitated for hours, yet even still when he came close to her to help put her on a gurney, she’d tried to compel him to let her go.  There had been some device blocking her will, and she’d realized that the Avengers must have developed some technology to block psychic attacks.  Likely due to the witch in their company.   Not only had Steve Rogers been unaffected by her powers, but he’d been aware that she’d been using them and warned the crew that brought her to the Tower that she would attempt to use them.

They had unnecessarily treated her injuries and placed her in this metal cell lying flat out on a hospital bed.  When the feeling came back to her feet she’d gotten up and looked for a way out, and now that dawn was approaching she knew if she wasn’t able to compel anyone to let her go soon, she’d be unconscious and helpless in the midst of superheroes.

For a while she crouched by the door, hoping to ambush anyone that might come to check on her.  They might be impervious to compulsion, but they weren’t to being turned.  When it was clear that no one was coming, she tore the mattress and the blankets from the gurney and pushed the mattress under the metal bench that ran along the side of the room.  She hung the blankets over the side of the bench and crawled in.  It wasn’t ideal, but it stopped the itchy feeling from bothering her as she fell into unconsciousness.

Rose didn’t fall asleep or wake up like humans did.  She was awake and then she wasn’t.  It wasn’t even sleep in the way a human would experience it.  To any layman, the lack of heartbeat, brain activity, or breathing would indicate she was dead.  She didn’t react to external stimuli in any way.  If someone chose to take that moment to stake her through the heart, she would jerk up as the stake entered her, and then crumble into dust.

When she regained consciousness, it wasn’t slow or gradual.  She didn’t feel tired.  She was just awake where before she was not.

It took her a second to realize that she was no longer under the bench she’d hidden in, but now in a metal box.  She was much colder than normal, but it didn’t bother her.  What bothered her was that she was locked in a mortuary fridge.

It wasn’t the first time it had happened, once she’d hidden in one herself, but she knew they were nigh on impossible to break out of once you were in one.  It was strange though, despite her predicament, she was relieved.  She was relieved they hadn’t tried to do an autopsy on her.  She was relieved that whatever path they’d taken from her cell to the morgue, she hadn’t passed through sunlight.  She also seemed to be in most of her clothes.  Her shoes and socks were gone, as were her sunglasses and jacket, but she still wore the palazzo pants and turtleneck she’d been wearing last night.  It could definitely be worse.

She began to kick at the door beneath her feet, hoping to any god that might care about her, that she’d be able to break the hinge off the door.

After two kicks the door swung open and the drawer was pulled out, and she was face to face with Steve Rogers once more.  “Why did you lock me in there!” she shouted, pushing herself up and jumping down from the drawer.  She didn’t try to run.  Not yet anyway.  She knew if he had been waiting here with her, he must know what she was, so if she attempted to escape there would be something to take her out.  It was better to bide her time and look for the best exit.

“You were dead,” he said.  “That’s where we put dead people.”

“And you just hang out in morgues for fun, do you?” she hissed.

“I had my suspicions,” he answered.  “They found you dead, but you’d managed to pull a gurney apart despite having a spinal injury that left you paralyzed the last time I saw you.  There was footage from the security tapes of things being tossed around, but you were nowhere to be seen.  When I went in to speak with you, you were under a bench in what looked like a fort, and there were no signs of life.  They wanted to do an autopsy.  I told them to wait until tomorrow.  So tell me - what are you?”

She rolled her eyes. “I think you already know the answer to that question.”

“See that’s the thing,” Steve said, taking a seat on one of the tall metal stools at the autopsy table.  “I thought vampires were fictional.”

“I thought Norse gods were fictional, and then there were two smashing up my city,” she said. “The universe is big.  Maybe all fiction has a piece of reality in it.”

“Still,” he said.  “Thor was living on another planet.  I’ve been on this one for quite a while now, you’d think I would have come across one of you before.”

She stalked toward him.  Her bare feet padded along the cool steel floor.  “What do you want me to do?  Prove it to you?”

She moved lightning fast, one hand going to his hair and the other to his neck as she shoved him up against the table.  She yanked his head back and bared her fangs.  “I wonder what a supersoldier’s blood tastes like.  Do you think that serum will make me even stronger?  Maybe I’ll turn you.  That might get me out of here safely, Captain.” 

She didn’t mean anything she said.  It was all for show.  She’d never turned anyone, and she didn’t want to start now.  But he obviously wanted something from her and she wanted to see what he’d do.  She leaned in pressing her fangs against his skin, just above the carotid artery.  She could feel the blood pulsing through it under her teeth.  She could smell it.  There was something slightly different to the scent.  Something akin to ozone or smoke.  She didn’t have time to study it, as Steve reached up and pressed something to her collarbone, and it felt like her skin caught fire.  She scrambled back, hissing in pain, and moving as far away from him as possible.

Steve held up the crucifix he’d pressed against her skin.  To double down on the old mythos, it seemed to be made of silver.  “So it is true.”

“I told you it was,” she said.

“Those children, they said you saved them,” he said, putting the crucifix back into his pocket.

“I told you that too,” she said.

“I’m just trying to understand it,” he said.  “Why would you save those children when you’re … well -” he waved his hand at her, gesturing up and down her body.

“A bloodthirsty monster?” she asked.

“Something like that,” Steve agreed.

She sighed and leaned against the wall.  “I was human once.  I drink blood because I have to to survive.  That doesn’t mean I want to see children used as a human shield.”

Steve’s blue eyes moved up and down her body, assessing her, looking for any sign she was lying to him.  She folded her arms around her middle.  It had been a long time since anyone had made her feel this vulnerable.  Not since she’d been turned.

“Can I go?” she asked.

“No,” he answered.  “You still killed a man.”

“Oh, like you haven’t,” she spat.

“Of course I have,” he said.  “But never like that.  I try not to kill whenever possible.”

“Well, we can’t all be a perfect little golden boy,” she snarked.  “Can we at least not have this conversation in the goddamn morgue?”

“Sure,” Steve said.  “Follow me.”

He opened the door and she followed him back through the building to the elevator.  Her eyes darted around the space, trying to work out if there was a means of escape.  Steve was fast.  Fast enough to keep up with her if she ran.  Plus he was strong enough to match her hand-to-hand.  Then there was everyone else in the building.  If Thor was alerted, she didn’t think there would be anything she could do to survive an assault from him.  So she followed along placidly, hoping he’d show some mercy on her.

They caught the elevator up, Steve leaned against the wall and looked at her.  “You barely look eighteen,” Steve said.  “How old are you?”

“You barely look twenty-five, how old are you?” she asked.

Steve laughed.  “Touché.”

“What are you going to do with me?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he replied.  “I have never had to consider what to do in this situation.  You helped.  But the way you helped.  How many other people have you killed?  Are you going to kill again?”

“You can’t hold me for imagined future crimes,” Rose argued.  “And you can’t hold me without evidence of any past ones.  I thought you of all people should know that.”

He frowned and looked down at his hands.  She had gotten to him.  Not enough for him to let her go.  This wasn’t a case of a hypothetical danger to the world.  She was a monster and setting her free meant setting free a being that fed on humans.

The elevator opened and he gestured for her to go through.  Still, the perfect gentleman he was raised.  She walked through and he led her to his office, pulling out a chair at his desk for her to sit at.  When she was sitting he went to his chair and sat facing her.  The office was much more modern than she expected.  The desk was black formica and extremely polished, to the point that if she gave off a reflection she would have seen it on the surface.  It attached directly to cabinets that ran down the side of the room under the frosted windows that acted as a wall to his office.  There was a panel that, if activated, would create the holographic screen of his computer on the desk, as well as a keyboard and a landline phone.  The only personal objects in the room were a series of papers stuck to the glass above the shelves.  Among them were some pencil sketches on aged notebook paper, and what appeared to be his 4F forms.

“I fought in World War II, you know?” Rose said as she turned her attention back to Steve.

“On which side,” he asked suspiciously.

She laughed.  “It really bothers you to think I might not be evil, doesn’t it?  The Ally’s side.  I was there before you started fighting.  The US had a monster division.  Did you know that?”

He shook his head.  “I don’t even know if I can believe that,” he said.

“It’s true.  There were monsters on the other side too.  The monster hunters were sent after them, and we were told to take care of Hitler’s obsession with the mystic world,” she explained.

Steve sat back and pinched the bridge of his nose.  It was hard when your whole worldview had come into question.

“Maybe we should start at the beginning,” he said, opening up the holographic screen on his computer.  “What’s your name?”

“Rose.  Rose Astor.  Of the Manhattan Astors,” she said.

Steve raised an eyebrow and began to type something into the computer.  “I’ve heard of you.  The Astor’s daughter went missing around the time I was born.  My mom would always bring it up when I would go out to play and dad…” he trailed off.  “It doesn’t matter.  What happened to you?”

“This happened to me,” she said.  “It was the start of prohibition and I had reached the legal drinking age the year they banned drinking.  I went out to a speakeasy and a vampire got me.  He kept me with him for a while.  I got free and he returned to Europe.  I was glad to see the back of him.”

“So you’re from my time?” he asked. 

She smiled.  “A little older, but yes.  We were in the same city when you were growing up.  I’m sure we have a lot in common, Captain Rogers.  Possibly more than you do with your friends.  Well - aside from that one little thing.”

“It’s not that little,” he said.

“Ahh, yes,” she agreed.  “You signed up to have a foreign substance injected into you that made you superhuman.  I had it forced on me.  You get to go out in the sun.  I don’t.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve said.  “I’m sorry that happened to you.  And I’m sorry you’ve had to live like this.  But I don’t know if I can just let you go.  If you kill again, that blood will be on my hands.”

“So what?  You’re just going to hold me here forever as your prisoner?  You’re as bad as he is,” she said.

Steve shook his head almost imperceptibly.  “Maybe you could join the team.  Prove to us you aren’t a danger to the rest of the world.”

Rose sank back into her chair.  She hated this.  She was going to be a prisoner all over again being forced to do things she didn’t want to do.  There didn’t seem to be any choice.  She believed Steve Rogers was a good man.  Hopefully, he could prove that to her too.

// NEXT

[itsbeeble]

Hate That... (Lovin’ Me pt 2)

Summary: You hated that he could move on so fast. That he could act as if nothing ever happened, that you were nothing, while you were left picking up the pieces of your heart. But you never got to know how he felt. You never really got the truth.

Genre: Angst, college!au, hurt no comfort

Pairing: Yoon Jeonghan x fem!reader! (featuring Hoshi, DK, Dino, and mentions of S.Coups)

WC: 3.1k

Read other parts: pt 1 | pt 2 | pt 3

WARNINGS UNDER THE CUT

Warnings: Angst, Jeonghan is an actual bitch, mentions of a panic attack, mentions of sex (like a bunch), swearing, I think mentions of alcohol at one point but I could be lying, Jeonghan also gets slapped

Listen to Hate That... by Key and Taeyeon for full effect

And I hate that I hate that

You’re happy without me

And I pray and I pray

I want you to be painful as much as I do baby

I can feel the breakup falling apart alone

You wonder, deep down, if you’d overreacted. If you should’ve just kept your mouth shut so that you still had him, even if it wasn’t the way you wanted. You can’t help but gnaw on your lip, your footsteps quiet against the tile floor of your university. There’s this burning feeling in your chest, this burning anxiety that just keeps building and building. Will it bubble over? Will you break down, further embarrass yourself, and make him hate you more?

Your nail digs into the side of your thumb, subduing the thoughts for a few moments and allowing you to take a deep breath. Everything feels uncomfortable. Your clothes feel too itchy against your skin, your jeans rubbing the wrong way, your bag too heavy on one shoulder and too light on the other. You’re hyperaware of everything that could possibly be wrong with how you look and a lump is beginning to form in your throat.

You should’ve just left it as is.

He was happy to just have you at night, so why weren’t you?

You ruined everything. You always do.

The thoughts are beginning to overwhelm you, and you can hear footsteps approaching from the opposite direction. You can hear laughter, and bright conversation despite the early hour. Your vision is swimming, heat building behind your eyes as tears begin to well up. 

Are you okay?

You can’t tell if the voice is in your head or not until a hand comes to wrap around your arm, pulling you to the side of the hallway. 

“Y/N,” Joshua is in front of you. One of Jeonghan’s friends, one that stood by and watched as the man who claimed to love you in secret belittled and berated you every day. “Are you okay?”

You can’t breathe, and you think he can tell when he rubs circles into your arms with his thumbs, trying to keep your attention and ground you. 

“Look at me,” his hand brushes the underside of your chin, turning your glossy eyes to his. “Do you want to leave?” Your breathing starts to grow shallow, and he’s pulling you away from the lecture hall. 

You see him then. You see Jeonghan, watching you and glaring at you. He just stands there, another girl on his arm vying for his attention like you had for so long. You watch him turn away from you, his lip curling momentarily before he’s kissing the girl. The pulse behind your ribcage begins to stutter and your hand grabs onto Joshua’s, squeezing tightly while the man led you out of the building and into the courtyard where a cool breeze begins to wash over your skin.

You knew you were right. You knew that he would never love you, not like you loved him. You hated it. Hated that he could be happy without you, while you were here suffering from the consequences of letting him win. You were never together, you know that, but this hurts worse than any breakup. That after everything he told you, everything he convinced you was true, you still meant absolutely nothing to him. 

~

Anguish. 

That’s what Jeonghan feels when he watches you walk away with his best friend. Anguish at the knowledge that he’s officially lost you. That you’ll never crawl back to him the way he always goes crawling to you. 

He knows you’d never believe him if he told you that he loved you. Not now. Not after his failure at the party. Jeonghan remembers how heartbroken and tired you’d looked when he couldn’t find the words to tell you that he loved you. Remembers the tears that you tried so hard to fight back when he tried to stop you from leaving. 

Vaguely, Jeonghan can think of all the times he’d known you questioned your relationship with him. He thinks of the night he almost asked you to stay, but instead told you to leave. 

Oh, what a fool he’d been to think you’d hold out for him forever. When he treated you as something less than human and flaunted his flings right in front of you. What a fool he’d been to think that you would just…let everything he’d done to you go without a second thought. 

But now, as he watches Joshua run his hand up and down your back, hugging you into his chest, he can’t help the burning rage that fills him. He knows he has no right to be upset, especially not now that he solidified your belief that you meant absolutely nothing to him. 

“Hannie,” Ha-Seung whines, tugging at the sleeve of his shirt. He barely spares a glance at her, but he sees her flinch at the sharp look in his eye. “What’s wrong, Hannie?”

“Don’t call me that.” Jeonghan’s voice is filled with a different kind of venom. One that causes his new fling to step back and lower her gaze to the ground. He knew it wasn’t her fault. Knew that she had no idea what he was feeling and why he was feeling it. No one did. No one would ever believe that he would love you. That someone with status and power would fall in love, obsess, adore, and yearn for someone who has nothing. No money, no true status in the world or in school. 

Now he was confused. You really were just…nothing. You were no one. You weren’t popular, you didn’t have many friends, and you kept to yourself. So why was he so drawn to you? Why did he claim to hate you? Why was he so focused on you when he could have and does have, anyone he can possibly think of? 

“It’s simple,” Soonyoung takes a large bite of the rice on his plate after he speaks, and his next words come out muffled. “You wan’ so’one t’ balansh you ou’.” He swallows, ignoring the disgusted looks he receives from his friends. “You want someone stable. You want someone loyal. You crave someone who can love you unconditionally, and ignore that, yes, you have status and yes, you have power. She’s that person.”

“It also helps that she’s smart and funny and very pretty.” Seokmin chimes in, pushing his glasses up his nose. 

After the party, it had become blatantly obvious that Jeonghan was upset. He only got more upset when he tried to explain to Seungcheol and Mingyu, and both told him that they already knew. That they always knew, and that it was only a matter of time before she left. He discovered soon after that all of his friends knew.

Not that he was the definition of discreet, with how loud the two of you were and the marks left on his neck, matching yours whenever they saw you (read: him) arguing. 

“So…what do I do then?” He leans forward, resting his chin on his hands, which have been resting on the table. “It’s not like I can just go up to her in front of the whole student body and just…proclaim my love for her.” 

“Jeonghan, you’re one of my best friends and I love you.” Soonyoung sighs. “But you basically just admitted that you’re still embarrassed by her.” 

“I’m not!” The older man cries. “I’m not embarrassed by her! I love her so much it physically pains me to admit it. I’ve never felt like this about anyone, and it scares me.”

“So if she came up to you right now and asked you again if you loved her, what would you say?” Seokmin presses. “Right here, in front of two hundred people in this cafeteria.” 

Jeonghan hesitates. Truthfully, he doesn’t know. He isn’t embarrassed by you. He could never be embarrassed of you. But to have people know that he’s been fucking you and loving you in private while verbally assaulting you in public, what would happen? What would they think of him? They’d think he’s a monster. 

And they’d be right. 

“I’d…I’d tell her I love her, I think.”

“You think?” Soonyoung echoes in disbelief. “You can’t think you love Y/N, Jeonghan. You have to know you love her before professing your love and acting all jealous because Joshua helped her and you can’t even go near her without calling her a thing.” A callout to what he’d said to her just three days prior. He flinches when he recalls the look on your face, the tears in your eyes, and the way Seungcheol immediately stood up for you. 

“Here’s what you’re gonna do,” Soonyoung leans forward, a glint in his eye that has Jeonghan leaning back. “And you’re gonna follow this plan, okay?”

~

You almost regret going to the Sigma Tau frat to study with Seungcheol. You had so many memories here, good and bad, and you swear you might cry when you look up at the house and see the window that you and Jeonghan would climb out of to sit on the roof together. You’re quick to turn your gaze back to the wooden door in front of you, your fist poised to knock. You freeze, panic beginning to settle in. What if no one is home? What if Jeonghan is home? What if he tries to talk to you? What if he starts to yell at you? That panic begins to build when you knock on the door and Jeonghan is the person to answer it, albeit a bit disoriented. His hair is a mess, his eyes half-lidded, and his sweatpants slipping down his hips a bit. It’s quiet for a moment while you both register what’s happening. While he registers that you’re right in front of him and he’s right in front of you. 

“Y/N-ie!” Chan shoves past Jeonghan, embracing you in one of the tightest hugs you’ve ever gotten. “I missed you!” You blink, unsure of what to do. Sure, you’d seen the other boys in passing but you’d never actually met them. 

“I, uhm,” Chan leans toward your ear, and you can feel his breath fanning your neck.

“Just go along with it. Please just play along.”

“I- I missed you too, Channie.” You awkwardly embrace him in a hug and you watch Jeonghan’s eyes narrow. Jealousy? Anger? You’re not sure what you’re seeing in his eyes, but your heart aches a bit. “How’ve you been?”

“I’ve been good!” The younger boy grabs your hand, shoving past Jeonghan to let you into the house, and drags you toward the kitchen. “Let me go get Seungcheol.”

“Oh, it’s okay. I can go find—”

“No,” Chan says sharply, his eyes practically begging you to just stay where you are. “Just stay here!” 

“Oh…kay?” You watch him run off, and find yourself rubbing a nonexistent stain off the table. It’s silent now, and you faintly hear a door slam and hushed voices. You let your bag slip off your shoulders and hit the ground with a dull thud. 

“How’d you meet Chan?” You jump when Jeonghan comes up behind you, moving to stand next to you at the table. He puts space between you, even though the last thing you really want is to be far from him. You can try to hide it, but you can’t help but love him. Can’t help but want to be how you were only a week ago.

“Oh…just between classes, I guess.” He hums, and you eye him carefully. 

“You and Seungcheol have gotten close.”

“We just study together.” Another hum, and this time silence. It’s becoming awkward, and the air has become thick. You wonder why he hasn’t left yet, or why he hasn’t started on his usual tangent about how you’re nothing to him. Since, clearly, he couldn’t possibly love you. No. You’d been a fool to believe that someone like him could love someone like you. 

“Y/N,” Jeonghan takes a breath, and you hear his feet shifting around. “I just wanted to say that I’m sorry.” You turn to him, your eyes narrowed. 

“You don’t have to be sorry for not loving me, Jeonghan. It really isn’t that big of a deal.” You try to sound genuine, but you know that you sound bitter. You feel bitter, and you likely look bitter as well. 

“That’s not— sweetheart that’s not what—” he cuts himself off, his eyes squeezing shut. “That’s not the only thing I’m sorry about, but we’ll get to that later. Just…I wanted to say that I’m sorry. For everything. For how I treated you in the past, and how I continue to treat you.”

“It’s fine.” He scoffs.

“You’re lying. No one is fine with being treated like they’re worth nothing. No one should ever put up with that, and the fact that you put up with it for so long is just…” his voice trails off and he digs the dull nail of his thumb into the old wooden table. You can see, now that you’re looking at him, how tired he looks. There are bags under his eyes. His skin is pale, his hair is hardly taken care of when usually he puts utmost effort into making himself look presentable. Like a prince. “You shouldn’t have had to go through that, and I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” 

Your heart is pounding, your body frozen in place while he searches your eyes for something. For anything. Acceptance, forgiveness, hatred, anger. You can’t feel anything, though. It’s like you just became empty the moment he spoke to you, like you can’t register anything anymore. 

He stays there in front of you, seemingly not caring that his words have broken you. He waits, though it’s just a fraction of the time you’ve spent waiting for him and he knows it. 

“Why now?” Jeonghan tilts his head and you repeat yourself. “Why now? After all this time, after you told me that you didn’t care about me the way I care—”

“I didn’t say that!” He snaps.

“You didn’t have to!” You yell back, tears burning behind your eyes again. The house is quiet. Too quiet, and you just want to leave. 

Jeonghan looks away from you.

“You didn’t…” your breathing is shaky, “you didn’t have to, Jeonghan. The way you acted was enough.”

“Sweetheart,”

“Don’t call me that.” He purses his lips and exhales through his nose. 

“Y/N, I’m sorry. I just… I haven’t felt like this before.” 

“Like what?” You look at him again, and he’s getting closer to you. He keeps a good distance between the two of you, but he’s inching his way closer and waiting for you to tell him to stop. 

You don’t.

“In love.” He smiles sadly. “I’m in love with you, whether you believe it or not. I’ve loved you for a long time now, I think.” 

“You’re lying.” Your voice starts to break. You don’t know if you believe him. You don’t know if you want to believe him. After all, he can lie so easily to everyone else. What’s to stop him from lying to you?

“I’m not.”

“You are.” He’s right in front of you now, his breath fanning your face as he tries to get you to meet his gaze. 

“Why would I lie to you, sweetheart?”

“Because that’s what you do.” Your brain is screaming at you to stop, but you won’t. Not anymore. “You lie to people, Jeonghan. You lied about us, you lied about caring about me. You made me feel worthless, Jeonghan, and now you have the audacity to tell me that you love me?”

“I told you, Y/N.” He snaps. “I told you that I’m sorry. What more could you possibly expect from me?”

“I want you to be honest for once!” You cry. “I want you to tell me the truth!” 

“FINE.” He yells. “You want honesty? Fine. I targeted you because you were easy. Because you were desperate. Because I knew that no one else wanted you and that you could give me what I wanted because you weren’t obsessed with me. You just wanted someone who could pretend that they gave a damn about you. I hated that you were allowed to show your misery, that you allowed yourself to show how weak you were. I loathed that I couldn’t do that because I had so many people watching me all the fucking time. So I went for you. And I drove all my frustrations into fucking you, into pretending that I cared about you just so I could break you down and make me feel better. But then something changed. I felt…I felt different, one day. One day I just…I didn’t want you to go. I wanted you to stay with me and love me and just…be with me.” 

He took a deep breath. 

“I wanted to be the person that you could be happy with. I wanted to be the one that made you happy, that had you laughing to yourself even when I’m not with you.”

~

Jeonghan doesn’t expect the stinging of your hand hitting his cheek. He doesn’t expect to see you lifting your bag off the ground, tears running down your cheeks, and violently sobbing. 

“Fuck. You. Yoon Jeonghan.” Your voice comes out in a whisper at first, and he swallows hard. “Fuck you.”

“Sweetheart, wait—” You cut him off and fear spikes through him. He’s officially going to lose you. He’s going to lose you for good this time and there’s nothing he can do to stop it. 

“I loved you.” 

“I know, sweetheart, and I love you too—”

“No, you don’t.” You spit. “You love that you had someone who you knew would do anything to just be loved by someone. You don’t love me. You don’t love anyone. You only care about yourself and your status. I doubt you even care about your friends.”

“Y/N, please.” He feels his face warming. He feels his own tears beginning to well up behind his eyes. “Please, don’t leave. Just let me— let me fix this.” You’re backing away from him, and he’s following you. He’s trying to get you to stop, but you won’t and he knows he can’t stop you this time. 

“You can’t fix this one, Yoon Jeonghan.” You sniff, wiping your nose a bit. “Don’t— don’t talk to me again. Don’t call me. Don’t text me. Don’t fucking talk to me. I fucking hate you.”

And I hate that I hate

That you’re happy without me

And I pray and I pray

I want you to regret more than I do

If you loved me

I just hate that you’re happy

~

TAGLIST: @woofie-nctzen-fanarts-320 @dearlyjin @joenghanieee @mikachu-chu @listxn @youre-on-your-ownkid @ti--red @springdaybreaks @momoxxchewz @rum-gone-why @everyoneluvscheol @dr3aluv5 @stfuayu 

[little-pondhead]

Eyes Of The Past - OLD CH. 1

Part 2

[TW: swearing, mentions of death, sickness, and general spookiness.]

...

Danny was used to seeing the dead. He was one of them, actually. People have been dying for thousands of years and will continue to die for thousands more. Hearing the whispers of people who should have passed on was nothing unusual, even if it gave him an uncomfortable sense of wrongness.

Maybe that’s why he didn’t like Gotham City.

Don’t get him wrong! Gotham was a lovely place to live; if you were psychotic. But the gothic architecture that never seemed to crumble, the visible smog that settled over the skies like a thick blanket, and the acidic aftertaste the water had were just enough to make Danny uncomfortable as he trekked through the streets. It had just rained, and the random sounds of water dripping off buildings made him flinch. Puddles kept reflecting the surroundings unusually. The smell of wet asphalt was heavy in the air, nothing like the freshness of Amity’s rain.

He felt itchy and weird in his skin, like something was trying to burn it off. It was just past three am, and Danny had just gotten off his split shift at some high-end nightclub. The Iceberg Lounge, or something like that. He’d gotten a job as a busboy since he was too young to work as a bouncer or bartender. Honestly, he was lucky they let him have a job at all. He took every shift he could, sometimes going over the legal limit of what a minor was allowed to work.

His boss allowed it, however. On a few conditions.

Listen in on the customers and report anything interesting to management. Danny was tiny, way too small for his age of sixteen. But he was great at making himself unnoticeable, which allowed him to keep his ears open for exciting deals and whatnot that were going around. He didn’t feel good about the work, but it kept food on the table. So far, the worst he’s reported was a plan to move against Red Hood and his gang. It wasn't ideal, but Danny could put up with the prying eyes and greedy hands so long as he got paid on time.

Oh, but the dead? They were so much worse.

The dead always noticed him. And they always talked to him. He could barely think straight with all the ghouls, specters, shades, and other souls that always clamored for his attention. Gotham’s dark atmosphere bred hundreds of angry souls who refused to move on until their business was finished. But without a steady source of ectoplasm or a natural portal, most of them stayed as shadows of their former selves. They stuck to the city's underbelly, brewing in anger and making the town sicker than it already was. Some of them, the stronger ones with a real bone to pick, chose to haunt the living, clinging to a person’s back and leeching off their life energy. Those were the ones Danny had to deal with the most in Gotham.

It was horrible. Everything was just so sad and angry! The city had a lot of fucked-up people living here, and the worst of them had so many shades sticking to them. They all wanted something. It made Danny feel like he was always having an allergy attack. The city just messed his senses up in the worst way possible. Danny would gladly be living anywhere else if it wasn’t for his need to hide and survive.

Kill them. Danny shivered as he turned a corner, and a shadow reached out to stick to his shoulder, whispering filthy words into his ear. Kill them for me. He brushed the spirit off, ignoring their hiss. His back ached, and his head throbbed. Danny just wanted to climb into the shit hole he called home and fall asleep on the thin futon he’d shoved into a corner.

So he did.

Danny climbed the rickety fire escape up to his apartment as quietly as possible (the main staircase was out of order) and shimmied himself through the broken window that never opened all the way. His backpack was stored under his futon, in the floorboards, and he collapsed without changing his clothes.

Maybe tomorrow’s shift will be better. He thought, closing his eyes.

…

It was not better. His next shift was as shitty as all the others.

“Take this to the east balcony on the second floor.” Danny’s supervisor for the night, Tamia, shoved a heavy tray laden with beer bottles and fancy cocktails into his hands, pointing vaguely to the staircase he’d have to use. It was only thanks to Danny’s ghost strength that he didn’t collapse under the weight.

“Isn’t that where the boss is?” He asked, squinting past the bright lights, barely making out the short outline of Oswald Cobblepot as he talked up some rough-looking characters.

Tamia nodded, distracted. She was already back to whipping up complicated drinks and barking orders at the other servers. “Yeah, so don’t fuck this up. In and out, ya hear?”

“Got it, Tam.”

She waved him off, and he began the rough journey to the second floor, skirting around the edges of the packed tables, avoiding the odd penguin, and taking careful steps up the staircase, floating just barely above the floor to make sure he didn’t slip. Guests and other workers ignored him, but their shades reached out, caressing him in a way that made him want to squirm. He couldn’t shake them off, not while he was carrying the tray.

She killed me, one whispered as a lady dressed in diamonds passed.

I was drugged, said another when a burly older man walked by.

Danny pressed close to the walls as a group meandered on by. My teddy bear! A little girl’s voice cried out, and he couldn’t tell which of the group it was coming from. He took my teddy bear! I want it back!

I can’t help you, he thought viciously, trying to charge the air around him with hostility. It was difficult. The humans would pick up on it if he harshed the vibes too much. Too little, and the shades would ignore it. A nearby penguin squawked in alarm, but the spirits backed off, so he counted it as a win.

Finally, he reached the east balcony. The thick curtains were closed, but his sharp hearing still caught a few words through the club's noise. Something about the gang war Red Hood had prevented (the one Danny had reported on.)

But it wasn’t his job to worry about that. He wasn’t a hero anymore. Instead, Danny politely knocked on a pillar holding the curtains up, waiting to be let in.

The conversation quieted. “Who is it?” asked his boss.

“Drinks, sir,” Danny replied simply. The curtain was let open, and by the Ancients, Danny wished he’d never taken this job.

The balcony was brimming with the dead. It reeked with the heavy stench of death.

He suppressed a cough, clamping his mouth shut as he passed out drinks. His hostile aura was drowned out by the sheer amount of spirits clamoring at each other, practically at each other’s ghostly throats. Some of them had real definition to their features, telling Danny that this was not a group to be messed with. One of the spirits was on the verge of gaining its own consciousness, dripping a familiar green Danny had come to associate with his rouges. The spirit's burning eyes turned to him, and Danny was overwhelmed with the scent of rot rolling off it. It made him feel sick to his stomach.

He started to pass out drinks, suppressing the urge to shiver as hands gripped at his face, his clothes, his arms, his everything. The shades had noticed him. They clamored around him, filling his head with white noise. It was horrible.

Mr. Cobblepot eyed the boy, noticing how his newest employee had tensed up and gone noticeably paler in the presence of his guests.

The kid had practically folded in on himself as another aide swept aside the curtains. His hands trembled just barely, and he refused to meet anyone’s eyes straight on, instead looking past their ear or at their foreheads. He also noticed how Red Hood, sitting directly to his right, had gone stiff when the kid entered the room. The crime lord wasn’t showing his face, but he could still see how Hood tracked Danny’s movements like a hawk, tensed like he was about to leap out of his chair and assault the kid. Danny, for his part, had clamped his mouth shut and did his duties diligently and quickly, seemingly not noticing Red Hood’s attention on him.

Everyone began murmuring again, continuing their conversations now that they had booze to loosen their tongues. Mr. Cobblepot took a tentative sip of his fancy cocktail, non-alcoholic, of course. He couldn’t have his thoughts inhibited while in the middle of a business deal.

The kid was in and out like a ghost, barely making a sound as he slipped past the curtains once more, tray clutched to his chest.

“Who was that?” Red Hood finally tore his attention away from the kid’s retreating back and turned to the host of the evening.

Mr. Cobblepot waved him off. “A new hire. Don’t worry. All the paperwork is in order; he’s not here illegally.” Lies slipped off his tongue like honey, and luckily, Red Hood was too distracted to notice. “Now, let’s get back to business, shall we?”

Danny practically ran down the stairs and back into the kitchens. He barely had time to shove his empty tray into Tamia’s hands before he slammed the back doors open and heaved the contents of his stomach out next to a dumpster.

Ancients, that was horrific. Danny knelt there for a few moments, dry heaving some more until his stomach was well and truly empty. Acid burned the back of his throat.

“Holy shit Danny! What happened?” Thin hands clamped down on his shoulders, making him flinch. The touch softened, and they started rubbing circles on his back instead. It was Tamia, no doubt having run after him when she saw his pale face.

Danny shuddered and shook his head. “Sorry.” He gasped. “I think-I think I’m allergic to something they were wearing.”

“Fuck.” Tamia cursed softly. “If I get you a drink, will that settle your stomach?”

“Probably, yeah.”

His (totally awesome, reminded him of Jazz) supervisor stood up decisively. “Then I’m getting you some water.” She told him. Two wispy shades curled around her neck, chittering at him with anxiety. “Sit out here and take some deep breaths. We’re short-staffed tonight, so I’ll send Mia to the balconies instead. We can’t afford to send you home.”

“And I can’t afford to miss a shift.” He joked. His heart wasn't in it.

Tamia turned and opened the back door. “Well, if you’re already cracking jokes, you’ll be back to waiting tables in no time~” She cackled over her shoulder.

Danny smiled at her retreating back. Tamia was a nice person, and he didn’t meet many of those these days. She was tall, with dark skin and a wit to match Nightwing’s. He’s sure she was only looking out for him because he reminded her of her two younger siblings, dead from a house fire a few years ago. (If he had to hazard a guess, the two shades that clung to her with such desperation were what was left of those very siblings.) It was fine. He’d take any pity he could get.

Coughing slightly, Danny leaned back on his heels and looked up, trying to see past Gotham’s cloud cover. Instead of stars, he saw two white eyes narrow at him from the top of the building. A dark mass writhed above the eyes, making the figure they belonged to blend in with the background. Danny yelped in surprise and fell on his butt. When he looked up again, the eyes were gone.

Well, shit.

Danny scrambled to his feet and tore open the back door, almost running into Tamia, who had a bottle of water in her hands. “Tam!” He blurted. “Get the boss! The Bat is here!”

...

[Pretty short cause I gotta skedaddle off to work. This is a planned fic that will be pretty short, and I'll link the next part below at a later date. Hope you enjoyed it!]

[holdinbacksecrets]

𓏸𓂃boyfriend things╰𓏸 collecting at the seams

◞✧𓏯 ⸝⸝⸝ in that yearning state 💌 for my fellow nct, bts, svt enthusiasts ⊹◞✿

♡his date couldn’t have fun without alcohol. she held a drink in her hand on the dance floor, closing her eyes instead of looking at him. he felt lost beneath the lights and bothered by the booming bass. the whole scene made him think of you: you could dance all night hyped up on love, herbal tea, and moonlight melodies

♡she’s wearing heels and a long, silky dress that doesn’t leave much to the imagination. her beauty is undeniable. she sends him a compliment when they meet beside his passenger door. his smile is shallow, but she doesn’t know him well enough to realize. he misses your dirty converse on the dashboard and the golden anklets you’d mindlessly trace with your eyes cast on the city passing by

♡she doesn’t want any part of her body to touch the grass during a date in the park. he walks beside her with a blanket in hand and a tote bag over his shoulder filled with food and sparkling cider. he thinks of you running barefoot in the grass, holding up baggy jean shorts, wearing a t-shirt so worn holes are collecting at the seams. itchy legs stain the evening—they’re worth it. any slip in your mood was healed by bare skin meeting the earth

♡he doesn’t want a plan. he wants to lay in bed for hours, brushed by sunshine with your legs covering his stomach. he wants to kiss you and admire the swell that finds your lips, get lost in your laughter when you try to leave to finish his cake. this new girl…this woman who isn’t you… shouldn’t be here, not today. not the day that’s missing all the hearts you would’ve drawn on the calendar—setting it up to create so much love

♡it’s wrong to lead someone on. it’s wrong to take what you need and nothing beyond, but it’s easy to convince himself the actions are ok when she wants him too. when she wants whatever warmth he can possibly bring into her life, even if it’s shallow. but there’s a giant you-shaped void in his heart that keeps him distant, that makes it impossible to ever rest her cheek on his chest, kiss the spot below his ear, or wear the clothes to the right of his long sleeves in the closet

♡he doesn’t know how many more ways he can ask you to try again. how many more ways he can hope there’s flexibility in the title of friend. it hurts to recognize the details and be confused by the big picture because it’s you but cloaked in mystery, cloaked in this declaration of your evolution into a person who’s trying to forget that he hurt you, instead of telling him you hate what he did. he doesn’t know how many more ways he vocalize it’s ok if you say it. it’s ok if you hate him. it’s ok if you’re embarrassed by the falling apart you did behind closed doors because he didn’t have to witness the scene to know it happened—to see where you’re still bruised. it’s ok that he fucking mattered. it’s ok that you let yourself love. you still deserve it. it’s ok to be confused if you still only want it with him

♡he’d be embarrassed if you saw him with her on his arm because you’d see it. the loneliness he’s dripping. it shifts the air around him, and you’re the only one who can collect it in your hands and sculpt something beautiful. but you wouldn’t judge him for wrapping the feeling around someone new, and that only makes him feel worse

[mycuriousmind18]

Poo-ber-ty *AHEM* I mean, Puberty in Riley’s Mind. In the concept of Inside Out 2, 5 Original Emotions from the 1st Movie experiences Puberty. Each of them with a specific common symptom of change while rescuing Riley's Sense of Self.

Joy — Lack of... well... Joy (or Maturity if you perfer)

Joy's usual Glowing Tint dims down like a flickering light bulb. This means that she is breaking, lacking her Bright of Joy. In Riley’s case, when she experiences hormonal and emotional changes, she'll feel confusion and get stress out over it. Joy might say that she can fix Riley by making her happy like always, but in reality, she sometimes can make Riley look stupid and immature for her age especially right in front of other kids in high school. Growing up is hard for a teenager, but if you accept yourself the way you are or stepping out of your comfort zone, then that's what happiness feels like. That is what Joy's Job as an Emotion is, Joy just needs to realize that.

Sadness — Body Oder

Tears in Sadness's eyes are not the only ones that stream down. Sweat streams down all over her body. In Riley’s case, there's not much to say other than a general increase of sweating on not just the armpits, but sweat can also come from your neck, your hands, underneath the breasts, and between your legs. The worst part about it is that it leaves a foul stench sometimes. Sadness is chubby, compared to Riley, so it's more difficult for her to smell fresh. Always shower very often, and put on deodorant right afterwards! Don't cry over it!

Fear — Growth Spurt (Omg my favorite to talk about 🤤)

Let's be real for a second, ALL of us Inside Out fans thought or believe Fear is the tallest one out of the five Emotions and we wanted him tall, and now we finally got to see this motherfucker 6 feet tall in a deleted scene, and we all love him so much. In Riley’s case, being tall (very fast) can be unexpectedly surprising, and she'll have to find some new clothes to wear, but there's nothing scary about being tall. Longer arms with big hands, longer legs with big feet, or even a longer torso with either thick hips or a big crotch. Fear, compared to Riley, is a male, so it's more common to have Growth Spurt in boys than girls. It sometimes makes him more attractive. However, both Fear and Riley are nothing but skin and bones, and being tall with a lanky body type, it sometimes makes them look like they're sick. And they will be SO unassuming if anyone shorter than them asking, "How's the weather up there?"

Disgust — Acne

Ah yes, EVERYONE'S favorite symptom, Acne. For Riley and Disgust, it is more worrisome on girls, especially if they went to look as pretty and cute as possible. Whether it be pimples or blackheads on your face, having acne is not a good look sometimes. For Disgust, it's NEVER a good look on her nor Riley. Looking at is disgusting, but popping it is much worse. That only spreads out more germs to make more zits on her face. Luckily, those things only lasts 1 week, as long as your face is treated with soap and water.

Anger — Body Hair

Anger may be bald, but he's going to have hair everywhere in his body regardless. For Riley, she'll more than likely will have hair on her arms, legs, or even between her legs. She'll might be anxious to hair like that as a girl. It'll might feel itchy as first, but having hair can make it comfortable to wear long pants or long sleeve shirts. Anger is male, compared to Riley, so having facial hair is not a problem as long as he treats it.